I want so much more of this hot thing called love

May we meet. Once again. And one more. And one more. And so many others that the numbers can’t even measure. May 900 trillion be little: may you smile more. For the world, for each day that passes, for each day that comes. For me. That smile in my mouth. So, kind of unannounced, making my lips feel your wet teeth and boycotting that kiss we usually rehearse when silence breaks out.

And that we know how to deal with it. Without thinking that silence is necessarily monotony. Without ignoring that, while our eyes dance over each other, silence reigns. Finally, understanding that comfortable silence is the true synonym of intimacy.

That of our love we have no doubts even in silence. Because love can be declared in a three-word, seven-letter expression. But it’s worth so much more when you care about my pleasure. And knowing how my day was. And in making me comfortable even in the midst of a quagmire. And when you think I’m beautiful right after waking up, disheveled and with a scrunched-up face.

SEE TOO:

• You are everything to me

And speaking of waking up, may I continue to be the privileged spectator of the greatest spectacle that this planet Earth will have: you waking up. That mortal difficulty of opening the most beautiful eyes mine have ever crossed. That morning, that little sloth that not even twenty liters of the most powerful coffee would drive away in less than twenty minutes. That indescribable smile you give when you realize you woke up next to me.

Let us go to the Caribbean. And to Thailand. And to Maragogi. And to the moon. But that nowhere in this world is better than your hot body. And skinny and small and white. And so harmonious, it looks like it was handmade. In fact, may we never lack hands.

For a cuddle, for a tickle, for one to give to the other. To slide uncontrollably over our bodies and under our clothes. And that, while we are inside a room, our clothes are more on the floor than we are wearing. Just so you don’t lose the habit.

SEE TOO:

• He’s my best friend and my love, with whom I would go all the way

May we fall in love with each other every day. Even when we disagree. Even when you’re wearing a shirt with holes and candida stains. Even when I’m in one of my crying fits just because a beautiful song is playing on the radio. Even when my Palmeiras face their São Paulo. Even when laughter is scarce, because it’s a day to share sadness. Even when it’s unlikely, that we get out to dance once again in the wheel of life.

And if it’s utopian to ask that we never fight, that at least it never happens on a Monday morning, when we’re invariably sadder about having to leave. Even though we know we’ll bond again in a few days. In never-ending hugs-and-kisses-and-caressing, in lazy afternoons under a blanket, in drunken nights dancing close together.

And may this still be the first page of a notebook with countless more blank pages. Which is for us to write, with four hands, the story we want. No fairies, no big bad wolves, no little hats. But with a lot of me, with a lot of you, with a lot of us. With a lot more of this hot stuff. What is called love.

Bruna Grotti