in lababo

I don’t know. I am in love. I am happy. My mind wanders.
I think I love him. I don’t know,  for when all of history has mentioned that the heart acts separately from the mind, I say I think I love him. But yes. It is only the most logical thing to say. I am in love with him.
I say that not with a whim on my heart. Not because I do not feel it, but more so because it is what I know.
Do I find happiness in his company? Yes.
Does he make me smile even for no reason at all just by the mere thought of him? Yes.
Does he excite me to look ahead and plan to fix my life? Yes.
Do I imagine a future with him more than usual? Yes.
Do I see in that future all the fights and arguments that we will have and lose and win and all the pain that well bring upon each other and all the times we will end up for giving each other and stay together in spite of every single fucked up thing? Definitely yes.
Do I find myself willing to defy all conventions and come out of the closet and hold his hand and kiss him in public no matter what other people say? Yes.
I know I am in love with him. No denying that. This I know. I feel it too. But more importantly all signs point to yes.
This will take a lot of work. I’m messed up and he’s fixing me little by little. That makes me happy.
Happiness takes a toll on my writing. More than that, love takes a toll on my writing.

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