It's been more than two years since I last wrote about us. Turns out, I can only write if there are uncertainties, indecisions, and little bits of sadness hovering over us. Right now, we are this--quiet, comfortable, safe. And if we just keep on doing the things we are currently doing, I guess we'll be just fine.
"Tonight I love you in a way that you have not known in me: I am neither worn down by travels nor wrapped up in the desire for your presence. I am mastering my love for you and turning it inwards as a constituent element of myself. This happens much more often than I admit to you, but seldom when I’m writing to you. Try to understand me: I love you while paying attention to external things. At Toulouse I simply loved you. Tonight I love you on a spring evening. I love you with the window open. You are mine, and things are mine, and my love alters the things around me and the things around me alter my love."
- Jean Paul Sartre to Simone Beauvoir
At this moment, at this point in our lives, I'm no longer consumed by my love for you; unlike a few years ago when all I live for is you being close to me. But like I always say, this doesn't make me love you any less.
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"I like how we've matured in this relationship," you said.
And then we end the conversation with 8===D and (v) emojis.
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