Kamand Kojouri

We start a relationship with someone not only because of how great they are but how great they make us feel. And because they have granted us this extraordinary gift__ chance to experience love, joy, compassion, and security __t is our exclusive privilege to make them feel wonderful about themselves, especially during days when they, themselves, don't feel so wonderful.

You are my favourite part of life.

Speak to me: I will spend my lifetime trying to understand you.

How is it possible, you ask, for love to be greater than the person who does the loving? That__ because love defies the rules of reason. It is the only exception.

I__ a winner because I always bet on you.

I write because the security of your love allows me to develop my craft without concerning myself with trivialities _ as if your love could be any more complete. But I write, in the first place,because of you, my muse. I write for your green eyes to glance at my humble words and for the pleasure of hearing you utter them.

Don__ say to yourself, __veryone argues!_ to justify and normalise your fighting, when the most natural thing is to love.

Love isn__ blind. Maybe we are all born blind and love finally gives us sight.

The only thing that comes close to defining me correctly is my love.

Be like the sun who fell in love with the moon and shared all his light.

I fell in loveand then I became love.

Like a child who saves their favourite food on the plate for last, I try to save all thoughts of you for the end of the day so I can dream with the taste of you on my tongue.

Like freshly cut roses, I place life in a vase... of love.

Is it odd, my love, that I envy others who have not met you for the intoxication they have yet to experience? Is it odd that I wish to witness you with new eyes so I may have the pleasure of falling for you all over again? I am grateful, so grateful, for knowing the meaning of your various sighs. For being the cause of your ecstatic cries. But, if only for a moment, I wish to let you fall out of my hands so that I may catch you again. You, my love, are the oddity. You are my exception.

Nothing belongs to itself anymore. These trees are yours because you once looked at them. These streets are yours because you once traversed them. These coffee shops and bookshops, these cafés and bars, their sole owner is you. They gave themselves so willingly, surrendering to your perfume. You sang with the birds and they stopped to listen to you. You smiled at the sheepish stars and they fell into your hair. The sun and moon, the sea and mountain, they have all left from heartbreak. Nothing belongs to itself anymore. You once spoke to Him, and then God became yours. He sits with us in darkness now to plot how to make you ours._ K.K.

Put down your glass, it is time to dance. If you want to get drunk all you need is to drink love. Put down your pipe and do away with these childish toys. If you want to get high all you need is to breathe love. Now, can I have this dance?

I am certain, my love, that poetry was born only after your birth.

They can award me with the greatest accolades and reward me with the finest diamonds. They can name days and streets after me, canonise and celebrate me. They can make me the queen of their kingdom, the president of their nation. They can carry my picture in their wallets and whisper my name in their prayers but, tell me, what is all this worth if your voice isn__ the one calling me home?