I consider it an art that I still love you.

You call from time to time.
You practicly never write.
Except when you want me in your bed.
You behave like there's nothing going on when we're in public.

But when we sleep together, you always hug me.
You never let me pay for my beer.
You make me smile, oh, so magnificently.
You took me to your favourite place on the river bank.
You crossed 50 km to see me just because I was mad at you
and I didn't want to pick up the phone.

I honestly believe we have found each other,
we both just need a little time to see that we have already met before.

Most of the time
loving You feels like
spilling boiling milk on my cold feet
over and over again
every day
of every week
of every month
for the past year and a half.

Other than that, we're just perfect together.

Imagine that, love. Just imagine that.