Love.
Love is not a box of chocolate
that you can eat, digest and pour into the toilet.
it is not a flower that dries or rotten in moldy water in the vase.
it is not a piece of a cardboard with a painted heart,
Which lies in the bottom drawer,
As long as you do not make up your mind to throw it away.
Love is not a one day in which you're in panic sweep from the store shelves all
Which, according to the companies and corporations are best fit the description of deep feelings.
it is not the teddy bears, candles and sexy lingerie.
Love is not red or pink.
It does not smell of marshmallows and roses.
My love is rather black as coffee and ashes.
It is probably transparent
As the monitor screen through which I read you and your thoughts.
It smells of books and smoke.
My love makes each day meaningful
but turns life into nothing.
Love is not the ability to see all the flaws and be willing to accept them,
But the capacity through a long time still do not pay attention on them.
My love is a jump into the abyss, holding hands,
not unclasping them, even when a clash with water breaks your legs.
Love is not a merging into one,
but the opportunity to be yourself.
Love is to let your beloved breathe calmly,
Even when you want to bind him and keep him in your basement,
If only he was always there.
Love is the ability to cope with yourself when you're drunk and your hands are reaching out for the phone.
No, love is not a one day
or a lifetime.
This is at least the part of life,
But the most striking and sad.
Therefore, today is an ordinary day,
Such as tomorrow, the same as yesterday.
And I love you today, no more and no less,
the same as tomorrow, as well as yesterday.