I remember one picture: summer, evening, the streets are almost empty, and I am walking, holding a paper cup of coffee in my hands. A strange thought is spinning in my head - does love happen or is it created? We are used to saying: "I fell in love", as if it suddenly fell on us like rain. But I increasingly think that love is not only an emotion, but something that we decide to keep.

In the beginning, everything always looks like fireworks: bright, loud, impossible to take your eyes off. But then there are no pops in the sky, but the quiet light of street lamps. And it is at this moment that we begin to choose. Choose patience when someone irritates. Choose fidelity when there are temptations. Choose a person, even when they are not perfect.

A feeling without a choice is like a beautiful song without a second listen: it will pass by, leaving only an echo. But a choice without a feeling is an empty form, devoid of warmth. True love is born somewhere in the middle: where the heart beats faster, but the head still decides to stay.

I think this is the magic: we can wake up one day and say - yes, I choose you again. Even if yesterday we argued, even if it was difficult. Love is both a feeling and a choice. And when they coincide, everything else loses its meaning.