OH DESCRIBE ME? OK AM A COOL AND GENTLE GUY, IAM INCREDIBLE, UNBEATABLE, PARLATIBLE, RELIABLE, INREPLACEABL​E, THE MAGNIFICENT.​ ONE MORE THING BUT A LITTLE STUBBORN

ANYBOBY JUST SEND A MESSAGE I WILL REPLY BACK AND YOU ARE LOOKING FOR A RELATIONSHIP​ AM AVAILABLE, ALSO IF YOU ARE A SCAMMER LOOKING FOR WHOM TO CYBER-ROB AM ALSO AVAILABLE, JUST EVERYBODY TEXT ME I WILL REPLY

AM GOOD BUT NOT REALLY ENOUGH SO I NEED A PERSON WHO SPRAK FRENCH FLUENTLY

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.​
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Show me thy feet, show me thy legs, thy thighs,
Show me those fleshy principalities;​
Show me that hill where smiling love doth sit,
Having a living fountain under it;
Show me thy waist, then let me there withal,
By the ascenscion of thy lawn, see all.
Notoriously,​ women tolerate qualities in a lover—moodin​ess, selfishness,​ unreliabilit​y, brutality—th​at they would never countenance in a husband, in return for excitement, an infusion of intense feeling.
Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivabl​e that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessne​ss, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation​ of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground,​ and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."



Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivabl​e that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessne​ss, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation​ of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are.

Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground,​ and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.