"Do you love me?" you asked.
"I am not certain-- I need to understand... the concept, the etiology, the explanation, the prognosis of possible unsettled dilemma this romance may bring. I'm in deep thoughts about it. Could you make it lightly my dear?" I responded, a prelude conundrum to a chaotic thoughts.
"If you could only regard an irrationality, the print of our love will change it course. It doesn't have to make sense for it to be a fact." You strainly replied.
In your contradiction, I found the common ground.
