Rajdeepwasekar - Amazed By Each Other

It was the moment I realized what music can do to people, how it can make you hurt and feel so good all at once.

— Nina LaCour

Loving you is not expecting something from you; is simply waiting for you, silent, night and day.

Loving you is not demanding of you, it is not forcing you, It is not to pressure you, it is not to convince you, It is not defeating yourself; is to help you free yourself from yourself, of me, of everything, is to lend you my breath, to seduce you without desires, or objectives, is to enjoy yourself.

Loving you is not reject your flaws; is to make me sensitive to them and make you sensitive to them, never expecting you to change them.

Loving you is not take refuge in your person; is to build a shelter together, with our own hands, where the whole world can fit.

Loving you is not wishing be the center of your life; is to drive you, If you let me, if I can do it, to the life of your center, without seeking rewards.

Loving you is not giving up to my dreams for you; is waking up from my dreams, with you, taken from your hand.

Loving you is not flattering you is not puffed up, It is not weakening you is not to get your attention, it is not confusing you; is to show you worth of your shadow, the wonder of your own light, is to help you live alert, is wanting you to fly while I look at you, absorbed, happy.

Loving you is not fearing you is not owning you, it is not guarding you, It is not watching over you; is hugging you warmly, is to open my door for you, is to observe you in full light, in total darkness, with the soul’s eyes.

Loving you is not just looking at you, smell you, or taste you; is looking with you at the same time anything, make me one with your smell, be part of you.

Loving you is not tell you that I love you, It’s not to think that I loved you that I will love you; is asking myself Yes I love you, is to feel it, leaving let it develop in me, without any need to tell you.

Loving you is not always be by your side, It is not always thinking of you It is not always dreaming of you; is to be available to you, is to be you, to become one with you, is to be aware of your dreams, and of mine with you, is to allow know me completely to the very center of my pain, and of my love.

Loving you is not look at you from above, or from below, from behind, from the front; is to cultivate a balance that again and again feel what happens for our common center.

Loving you is not projecting ideas about you is not idealizing yourself; is to see you from afar, from close, from within (from you), from outside, see you from beyond me.

Loving you is not loving you only when you love me, when you’re pretty when you smile at yourself, when you kiss me, when you caress me, when you walk gracefully, when you are calm, when you are happy; is to accept you whole As you are, always and everywhere, with simplicity, gladly.

Loving you is not writing you my love poems; is to be love when I write to you, and when not.

Loving you is not writing that I love you; is to share with you the best of me (love), no return, without horizon.

Amarte no es esperar algo de ti; es simplemente esperarte, en silencio, de noche y de día.

Amarte no es exigirte, no es obligarte, no es presionarte, no es convencerte, no es derrotarte; es ayudarte a liberarte de ti, de mí, de todo, es prestarte mi aliento, seducirte sin deseos, ni objetivos, es disfrutar de ti.

Amarte no es rechazar tus defectos; es hacerme sensible a ellos y hacerte sensible a ellos, sin esperar jamás que los cambies.

Amarte no es refugiarme en tu persona; es construir un refugio juntos, con nuestras propias manos, donde pueda caber el mundo entero.

Amarte no es desear ser el centro de tu vida; es conducirte, si tú me lo permites, si soy capaz de hacerlo, a la vida de tu centro, sin buscar recompensas.

Amarte no es renunciar a mis sueños por ti; es despertar de mis sueños, contigo, tomado de tu mano.

Amarte no es halagarte, no es envanecerte, no es debilitarte, no es llamar tu atención, no es confundirte; es mostrarte la valía de tu sombra, la maravilla de tu propia luz, es ayudarte a vivir alerta, es querer que vueles mientras te miro, absorto, dichoso.

Amarte no es temerte, no es poseerte, no es custodiarte, no es vigilarte; es abrazarte cálidamente, es abrirte mi puerta, es observarte a plena luz, en total oscuridad, con los ojos del alma.

Amarte no es sólo mirarte, olerte, o probarte; es mirar contigo a la vez cualquier cosa, hacerme uno con tu olor, formar parte de ti.

Amarte no es decirte que te amo, no es pensar que te amé, que te amaré; es preguntarme a mí mismo si te amo, es sentirlo, dejando que se desarrolle en mí, sin necesidad alguna de decírtelo.

Amarte no es estar siempre a tu lado, no es pensar siempre en ti, no es soñar siempre contigo; es estar disponible para ti, es ser tú, hacerme uno contigo, es ser consciente de tus sueños, y de los míos contigo, es permitir que me conozcas por entero hasta el mismo centro de mi dolor, y de mi amor.

Amarte no es mirarte desde arriba, o desde abajo, desde atrás, desde delante; es cultivar un equilibrio que una y otra vez sienta que pasa por nuestro centro común.

Amarte no es proyectar ideas sobre ti, no es idealizarte; es verte desde lejos, desde cerca, desde dentro (desde ti), desde fuera, verte desde más allá de mí.

Amarte no es quererte únicamente cuando me amas, cuando estás guapa, cuando te sonríes, cuando me besas, cuando me acaricias, cuando caminas con elegancia, cuando estás tranquila, cuando estás feliz; es aceptarte entera tal cual eres, siempre y en todo lugar, con sencillez, con alegría.

Amarte no es escribirte mis poemas de amor; es ser amor cuando te escribo, y cuando no.

Amarte no es escribir que te amo; es compartir contigo lo mejor de mí (el amor), sin vuelta atrás, sin horizonte.

                                   - Ousía Poética (cc)

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She’s your girl when she starts talking like you

I miss everything. I miss talking to her, hearing about her day. I miss her voice all gravelly and smoky, I miss hearing her laugh, [...]. I miss her eyes, and the smell of her hair [...]. I fucking miss everything. I miss knowing she was around, because it helped me to know that she was around, someone like her existed. I guess most of all, I miss knowing I would see her again. I always thought I'd see her again.

— James Frey, My Friend Leonard

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