Uncommon love or in common I have interminable objectives of life. My bigger incumbency is to unmask the love. I never obtained to explain what I felt, wise person not to say he loved how much it. It could have all the defects of the world: to be voluble, absurdly negligent and perfidious. But still thus, he was better of what all the remaining portion of the world. -book-report/’>Caldwell Esselstyn Jr.. I never understood why it was accurately what I wanted. What I desired, to walk to my side, holding my hand, in the dismal one of the night. Or even though in any place cliche, the important one was the presence of it.
To the times, I would so like not to be piegas, to prevent the suffering. I exchanged my heart of tray, was always melflua and malvola, never different of it. Definitively, exactly it being my opposite, had something in common: the love, one for the other. That overwhelming, mutual, full love of peripcias, that of so strong seemed disease. I always was pertinacious, of he loved that it, accurately as it was, accepted it at any cost to I.
He was there that I arrived in a conclusion: it touched my soul, reached it with all force leaving stains spread. Beyond my heart, that burnt, ardia, was in peace, and came back to burn. It gave love to me he made and me to love. To try to explain the love I could make a circumlocution, but no word would be conclusive. Because the love even is above of the things of the world, then nor words are enough. I cannot say that I unmasked the love in hypothesis some, because I believe that love is for feeling and it does not stop having explanation.