Love.

I remember seeing Carrie in front of the screen, wondering about it. Maybe about the true meaning of this little word. Or not...

I remember thinking that maybe, it is not about the word at all.

So I got my pen, reached for a peace of paper...

"The true kind of love.

Is there such a thing?

For me, it's something like the blues...

Maybe right.

When it doesn't goes wrong.

Just perfect.

I thought it could be nice.

Maybe not just for fun.

It could mean something at all.

And it doesn't have to be perfect then...

And I hear they say;

"How hard this is."

I think for a moment.

Risk a lucky guess

Try to run if i miss the point.

And decide to hide behind my mind...

And so...

I write.

Not to you.

Not for me.

For us. Both.

In a selfish way.

Searching for the right words.

Whishing they could find me...

And I feel like falling.

I do.

I die. I cry.

I do try not to.

And suddenly,

I finally realize.

It wasn't about love.

It's about us.

Our little hearts.

Made yet of flash and blood.

Our fears and hopes.

About a simple desire:

"We do not want to be alone in this gigantic world... "

And maybe that's why love is all around...

At least, I think that's why we keep searching for it.

No matter what.

And I do hope, someday,

I'll be able to find out if I was right or wrong.

I do hope I get the chance to just...

Love.