I’d swim across the ocean for you.
And I’ve always loved this way.
But the difference is that before, every time, I would do it for someone who would stay dry, and comfortable, and let me be drenched by the storm in the sky. Less than crossing puddles, and less than even helping me cross it myself. I swam oceans for people who would ask me to carry them on my back while I did, eventually forcing me under and drowning me, knowing full well what they were doing. They would hardly cross a street for me.
But I will still swim oceans for you— and I am absolutely sure that you would for me too. So I’ll meet you in the middle.