I love you so much that I can’t help but check your phone. Ah, yes, and your Facebook and Insta. And I looked in your wallet a few times to see if you weren’t hiding money from me. In the beginning, I didn’t care, but now I love you so much I can’t help myself.
I love you so much that I suddenly become suspicious when you’re late on your way home, and instead of worrying, I make movies. Those bad ones. Soap operas. In which you cheat on me two blocks further. With my step-sister. Of whose existence I don’t know about. Yet! In the beginning, I didn’t care, but now I love you so much I can’t help myself.
I love you so much that I can’t help but yell at you for not taking out the trash, not washing the dishes, not tightening your socks, and not bringing me flowers since the autumn of 1700. In the beginning, I didn’t care, and it was enough for me to be with you, but now I love you so much that I can’t help myself.
I love you so much that I don’t see what the big deal is to flirt with the masseuse who added me on Facebook. In the beginning, I flirted with you, but now I love you so much, it’s no longer fit. Flirting is for insignificant relationships, not for our deep love.
I love you so much that I don’t see what the big deal is if I go out for a beer with the boys on the way home, without even letting you know that I went for a beer and not for…ever. In the beginning, I used to tell you that I am going to be late cause it seemed the polite thing to do, but now I love you, and politeness has nothing to do with our deep love.
I love you so much that I don’t want to lose precious time taking out the garbage. Or washing dishes. Or giving you flowers. In the beginning, I did it cause I was used to doing it, but now I love you, and I trust that you can do it better than I. Even choosing your own flowers.
Do you still think this is love? I do not! But if you say this is love, come on, please, love me less!
