I don't dream of perfect love. I dream of living. Where you can be yourself - a little strange, a little funny, sometimes very tender.

I want us to laugh until we cry together, watch stupid movies, argue about who's doing the dishes, and not be able to fall asleep without saying "good night" to each other. So that it's warm - not only in hugs, but also in words, in looks, in the way you hold my hand.

Love is not about gifts. It's about "I'm here" when it's good, and "I'm still here" when it's hard. It's when you're not afraid to be vulnerable. It's when you want to share everything - even the last piece of pizza.

I want to love in a way that is easy, fun, cozy. So that every day is like a little holiday. And even ordinary life is like a small miracle.