There are people that we love for lots of good reasons: because they are beautiful because they have charm, because their conversation is interesting, because they are grown, because they make good love, because their voice makes you vibrate, because for their smile, damn you, because they take you to the restaurant or the opera and are attentive to what you say, for their fragrance, the color of their car, their eyes when you drown, crease their shoulder or their hand on your belly at night, their breath when they are lying, asleep, with you, their laughter or sudden melancholy.
The mystery is when you look like a man without reason, when the evidence is there, without explanation, as unstoppable as the sunrise on a summer morning. It is well with him. We do not need to know the reason. It is there and that is enough. It is not there and you're missing. You know his qualities, you would find fault, it infuriates you, you may want him to be what it is. But is he, as he is, that you love. Integer.
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