Mature love

         If I want to love, and love arrives later, I wish to find it at the extreme point of my life. I wait for it to be the cherry of life that I lived, a mixture of all the loves I knew.
         Mature love is the fruit that we take from the tree without fear. It’s the enchanted forest where we chose to live, and we want to feel aside us to sleep together.
        It’s a night without nightmares. It’s like a kiss in the fate, to try to extend our lifespan, only to love a little more. Sometimes it is bickering, discussion, and disagreement. It’s crazy stubborn for nothing. Love is to make room for others when someone wishes to feel his lover closer.
        It’s not a rude love, this later love, but it’s a choice without vanity when we find this invincible wall that scares us and announces the end of life. The most important thing is enjoying every day as if it were the last day. It’s not loneliness in the end, it’s a new start and a different make-up.
        It’s sober but not gloomy, it’s different because it’s not young, this being so arrogant who thinks that eternity belongs to him and not to others.
       This love so distant seems like a sunny day that won’t finish. A shadow that doesn’t scare us. It is a way of staying hidden, and only the sound of kisses exists in the air because this sound we learn to understand.
        When this love time is going to infinity and it seems like a coat that mothers put on their kids to sleep. It seems solitary and shy, but in the silence among four walls, it wants to rejuvenate.
       Mature love is embarrassing and confusing. We feel it in the quick caresses exchanged among these lovers in the streets. It is modest, and it’s a storm that turns into art far away from people in the silence of a room. It is more conservative, more contemplative, and slow, but it hasn’t less fire than other lovers.

Photo from: Foto de Joshua Hoehne en Unsplash 

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