The tendrils of the tree, that I don't know the name of , are cupping one half of her face in the picture. I am not good with the descriptions of things, but when it comes to her , I see everything so clearly, and in such detail as if it is frozen in time.
Is love a matter of stillness?
No matter what are the extremes that my heart oscillates to , it comes to the midpoint that is her. It doesn't even hurt anymore. Now it's a state of being, as familiar to be as drinking a cup of tea, or eating when I am hungry. When I close my eyes, it's her, and the freedom that I take with my fantasies is mine.
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