You ask too much from me.

Remember when I look at you with quizzical eyes? Or when I ask you what are you doing with the dreams you built before? 

You do something in my life. You make it seem easier to make the tougher decisions. You do not have big fears but dwell in petty little uncertainties. You jump and run and shout for life. And you always make it look so fun.

I love the many colours of you. The way you cowardly aim for banter than depth. The way you strut and poke fun at simple everyday things. The sweetness that never leaves your eyes. The youth you display beneath the old soul you possess. I think you have actually seen it all and decided that it's all funny.

I know that I do not need to look closer to see that you belong to each other. She is strong and brave and caring and wise. She shows her love for you in the most conventional ways too. She brings light in your eyes and makes sure that you are kept with your feet on the ground. 

She is the rudder to your sail. I know that you are bound to toss and drift without her. I am just not sure how it seemed possible that you decided that you have found this in somebody else.

She completes you in the best definition of that cliché.

It pains me to see what love has done here. I know that we do not always get what we deserve in the matters of love. And we cannot always afford to do something about it. 

But you belong to France.