Five Months

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We’re five months now.

May 25, 2018, was one of the happiest moments in my life when you became my girlfriend. 

Sometimes it feels like you’re more than just a girlfriend. 

You’re like my lighthouse when I get lost in my sea of uncertainties. 

You’re like my observatory when I forget to breathe and look at the stars. 

You’re like my museum when I forget to appreciate the meaning of beauty and art.

This month has been a rough ride for me. Endlessly searching for a light at the end of this eternal tunnel and it is only when you hold my hand when I feel safe inside this darkness that I sometimes think is my home.

The truth is home is wherever you and I are together. Sometimes home is sadness. Sometimes home is madness. But always home is wherever you and I are together through thick and thin and everything that comes in between you and I.

Nothing can ever tear us apart, and that’s what I’d like to believe in. Because a universe without you in it is a universe where everything is meaningless, and nothingness becomes something I’d carry for the rest of my life, and you are the rest of my life.

I still have so much to know about you, and you still have so much to know about me. But as the poet Rumi once wrote “Reason is powerless in the explanation of love” And I just love you because you are you along with an infinite number of little things that makes me feel like this life can be beautiful despite my mental illness because I am loved by the prettiest, loveliest and most brilliant girl that I know.

Life is suffering, as Nietzche wrote and you are one of the meanings that I keep safe to survive. I love you, Camille and that will never change. I hope you read this and know how much very much you are. And I will always be here for you my one and only love.

True Love Is Like Poetry

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True love is aesthetic
and destructive just like poetry.
 
It demands deep feelings
to be understood.
 
It’s the cracks where flowers
grow between the words.
 
It’s the real thing than
it is the echo.
 
It’s listening.
It’s empathy in its most
sexy form.
 
It’s music.
It’s a random act of kindness.
 
It’s spontaneous
like breaking something
and saying sorry to someone.
 
It’s powerful.
It contains formlessness
and it always compromises.
 
It’s in knowing that
you know nothing about anything.
 
It cannot be explained
and it’s mad but in a good way.
 
It’s hard work.
It needs a lot of editing
and forgiveness and learning.
 
It’s the teacher of the broken.
It’s an autobiography of time shared.
 
It’s familiar.
It’s a place for expression.
It’s a place for what we call home.