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  • I've always thought i knew what love was. It couldn't be anything else but a warm, loving, caring, cuddly feeling. comfortable, like a blanket.
    Now i know that isn't love, that is something which sometimes happens when you're with someone you really like. Real love is much more than that. It hurts, it aches, it makes you spend too much time looking at your phone, hoping for some sort of a sign of life.
    You come to hate yourself for it, yet it is stronger than anything else. You start doing rash and illogical things, driving up and down, over a hundred kilometers, from your place to hers, if for no other reason than to have a big fight over lack of attention and trust. Followed by a maelstrom of apologetic textmessages on the way home, explaining the what and where and why, and feeling utterly unhappy.
    But it's also that unique feeling that get's the both of you on a trip to Lisboa, sitting in the sun, sipping a coffee, not saying a word, because no words are needed...
    First love at 45, a depth of feeling, never experienced before. Such a waste, such a wealth...
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