I look out the window with an affectionate gaze, contemplating the legitimate resource of love. I surrender, believing in this total commitment that brings benefits and satisfies my sentimental cravings. Love is worth any cloudy Monday, disastrous Tuesday, wordless Wednesday, rose-less Thursday, dreadful Friday. And on Saturday, we end up meeting at the corner bar to have a few drinks and catch up on all the stories that make love worthwhile.

Love is worth even what’s not in the contract. It’s worth the effort of an undeserved hug, the tear of contentment, the slips of pure joy. The red, embarrassed cheeks, the sigh of a blossomed heart, the tingling in the hands. It’s worth the silly little verse, invented to please, the discreet wink at a family dinner.

Love is worth the falls, the downpours, the lonely winters, the letter full of longing. It’s worth the wait at the gate, the preparation for an intimate dinner. Love is worth exclusivity, the patience of Job, which we usually don’t have. It’s worth being silly, making mistakes and forgiving, finding a way in life, making room in the drawers for other pairs of clothes. It’s worth touching, squeezing, listening to music together, warming feet, doing a kindness, repeating a caress.

It’s worth the tachycardia, the prompt delivery, the delicious desires. It’s worth the giving, the affection. Love is worth the absence of any theory. By itself, love is worth it. And it’s worth it because loving is beautiful. 🙏🏾❤️

©️ Beatriz Esmer