Love. Of life.

Somehow, even though I had been in and out of a couple of relationships in quick successions over the past three years, my search for the perfect one was always on. All along I never felt complete. And she, even though we had known each other, got close when we re-met after a gap of three-four years. We opened up through phone calls, mails and connected thus. Rest isn’t really history. It’s our present. It’s what we have in the name of love. In the name of life. It’s all so true. So real.