The quest

What if we had discovered absolute, complete, genuine, pure love? What if our quest for that perfect match, quest that has lasted over four decades, were finally over?
How would we feel? How would we know?
Would we feel relieved or sad, excited or satisfied?

Love is about being curious. Love is about exploration. Loving you makes me feel like the first astronaut on the moon, or a sailor discovering a desert island – in awe in front of so much beauty, my heart pounding, my eyes blurred by emotional tears, with a desire to cherish, getting to know and adore this newfound land, never wanting to leave it.
You are my moon, you are my desert island, I am your pioneer.
I don’t want our quest to be over. We found each other, our paths have met, we experienced love at first… email… only to be confirmed by our very first kiss. The love exploration is only beginning.
If you were my moon, I would visit every crater and every sea, pick every stone and feel every bit of moondust between my fingers.
If you were my island, I would taste all the delicate pieces of fruit growing on you, I would sunbathe on all your sandy beaches and swim in your blue waters.

Our quest is not over baby. Our love is magic. Our mutual discovery is a blessing. We discovered new beautiful and rich land, we want to stay there, and we will as long as our pioneering mind drives us. We may never know exactly how powerful our love is, but we will and must keep looking for the answer.

Le doute

Recueil : Nouvelles poésies (1829)

Être d’un seul mortel la première pensée, 
Être le seul désir de son âme embrasée, 
De ses pensers nombreux être l’unique objet, 
Former son univers et son bonheur secret ; 

Être de ses beaux jours l’unique jouissance, 
Être dans ses chagrins son unique espérance, 
Son plaisir le plus vif et l’âme de sa vie, 
Son plus doux avenir et son unique envie ; 

Posséder sur ses sens un pouvoir absolu, 
Être tout son amour et sa seule vertu, 
Et douter un moment de tant de jouissance, 
Douter de son bonheur, douter de sa constance 
C’est donner la douleur pour prix de son amour, 
C’est détruire sa vie et son cœur en un jour.

Claude-Charles Pierquin de Gembloux