Perfectionists talk about first love. Realists talk about true love. Optimists talk just about love.

I was moving around with my imperfect, broken pieces until you came across and stitched my flaws with your words.

Love makes you do,
the best of things.
Love makes you do,
the worst of things,
It's a feeling extreme,
that doesn't exist in between.

I don’t have any fancy story,
about the way we fell in love.
It was that one awkward move,
and the next I remember,
I was looking at you.

I don’t have any fancy allegory,
about how we decided to marry,
It was over the deck of that cruise,
that you made an awkward move,
And the next I remember,
I conceived in your eye,
some purer truth,
and I was looking at you.

I don’t have any fancy history,
about how I know you so deeply,
It always was that one awkward move,
which I have trusted to pursue.

Who said lovers are complex?
All you need is their,
one awkward move.
Their soul in an instant,
is engulfed,
In that one tick of drool.

That’s all what love is,
that one awkward move,
which is only meant only for you.

In the fall of leaves,
In the hustle of breeze,
In the curve of streams,
I foresee,
Nature keeps more concealed,
Than it lets us peep!

It was in the horizon of existence, that the Big Bang must have created our souls, we loved each other like the plane of time doesn't hold a fleck of control over us.