Very often, a person who is usually called his own is presented with some kind of extra tasks and requirements. He simply has to be a telepathic and read not only your thoughts, but even decipher the beat of your heart. He has no right to offer you tea when you feel like coffee. He must know exactly how much sugar you put in this coffee, and God forbid, he should be mistaken. After all, he is his own, which means that he has no right at all to make a mistake, a misfire, he cannot say at all something that is not pleasant for you to hear, to act in his own way, contrary to your expectations. In general, he should be absolutely like you and do only what you want.
But is this love?
Love is when you take into your world someone's special, not at all like yours, the Universe. Your person, no matter how similar you are, is still not you, and he is alive, not a computer-drawn cartoon character. He, too, may have his own sorrows, and he is not designed to always guess your moods and make you happy 24/7. Love is happiness from the fact that next to you is a completely different, often not ideal, but absolutely wonderful person. Such as it is, in itself and at the same time dear to every cell of the soul and body. Even if you are completely different and he periodically infuriates you so that your eye twitches.