I imagine they will look at me with Patronizing incredulity When they ask “So, you love him?” & I unblinkingly answer “yes” here they will chuckle with great condescension and worry, believing I don’t understand the meaning. Perhaps, they are right. The trouble is: I don’t like him. It’s not merely that. I am somewhere between I-am-mildly-interested I-like-him & I-am-going-to-marry-him. Which, in the smallest of my mother tongue, leaves me With love. I love him, in my way. In the way I—with twenty years behind me—believe is love.