Iubim bărbaţii pentru că ne fac să suferim şi să simţim că suntem vii, că avem sentimente, că avem un scop pentru care ne târâm existenta de-a lungul anilor. Iubim bărbaţii pentru că ne dăruiesc lacrimi pe care sunt capabili să le şteargă cu cele mai simple cuvinte. Îi iubim pentru că ne dăruiesc frustrări, pentru că în inconştienţă lor ne fac să ne simţim puternice, supreme. Îi vrem lângă noi pentru că prin simpla lor prezenţă ne simţim protejate, pentru că reuşesc să spulbere şi cea mai mică umbră de frică când cu braţele lor ne cuprind întreaga fiinţă. Iubim bărbaţii pentru tăria de care încearcă să dea mereu dovada când în faţa noastră îşi înghit durerea şi îşi ascund lacrimile pentru că atunci când nu mai suntem în preajma lor să se ascundă într-un colţ al patului ca nişte copii îmbufnaţi care îşi culeg lacrimile într-o batistă. Iubim bărbaţii pentru că ne dau speranţe, pentru că ne fac să tresărim de fiecare dată când se îndreaptă spre uşă şi ne dau impresia că poate mâine nu se vor mai întoarce înapoi. Când cu privirea sumbră ne acoperă cu un voal de îndoială şi spaimă că în următoare clipă vor dispărea, spulberând întreg universul pe care l-am creat în jurul lor. Iubim bărbaţii pentru că uneori şi ei ne iubesc, pentru că uneori ne iubesc mai mult decât suntem capabile să ne imaginăm doar că sunt prea slabi să accepte acest lucru. II iubim în neştiinţă, involuntar, independent de propria voinţă. E ceva mai presus decât fiinţa noastră, ceva ce vine din interior şi nu poate fi oprit doar cu un simplu "Stop". Iubim bărbaţii pentru "n" motive inexplicabile. Îi iubim pentru că există în vieţile noastre şi pentru că adesea dau culoare universului pe care mai apoi tot ei îl lipsesc de viaţă. Iubim bărbaţii pentru că ne naştem să îi iubim şi pentru că murim iubindu-i.
We believed, we believe and we'll always believe in love. We are born to love and we die loving. Like addicts we use to inject feeling in our blood that seize us each cell and take over us. We become slaves of our own subconscious that sentence us in a prison of feelings from which we can't or we don't want to escape. The legal drug will always be him. And we'll always be able to pay however for a gram of attention, for a glimpse of his look, for a smoke of happiness. We could stay a lifetime watching them in their unconsciousness when feeling lost they always come back to who gave them the first piece of free happiness. With big and innocent eyes they are begging back the lost moments as ashes once blown by the wind could be gathered all back. As from the deepest wounds wouldn't remain neither a scar or a trace. In a fraction of a second they can always manage to take down an entire universe when subtly and indirectly they make you a sign to walk out the door. The indifference from their eyes weighs like a thousand knives ready to be stuck in your back when you prepare to leave. And he, there...closing the door behind you, listening to your quite steps as you walk away and he loses you with every inch you leave behind. And he would have thought that he'll see you crying , begging him to stay with you. But you leave swallowing your own pain, poising yourself with your own venom left from a story infected by monotony and pride. From a beautiful dream you wake up in a nightmare claimed by his simple presence printed in your mind. And you would have given everything at that time if you would have known that he would have caught you by the hand turning you back from the road, and you fighting with him, crying theatrical to be left alone so then you can enjoy his lips kissing you forced, his strong arms around you, feeling the pain even more sweet. But he is there...staying behind you ignorant, absent of any trace of remorse, indifferent while inside you is starting a new battle with yourself, with your own desires. A battle in which your own weapons are useless to you at all because you are immune in front of their effects. Remain the doubts and frustration when you see that searching for answers you find even more questions. You expect time to close your wounds so that when it's almost done it, to see his shadow in the distance coming to you, being overwhelmed by the lack of your presence. He looks for you, he cries for you, he wants you while memories spin doubts if you should answer to his call or not. You carefully look to your closed wounds and at him like a knife ready at any moment to reopen them. And being credulous you stretch your arms falling prey to the same animal that attacked you another time. Because being women we are born to give love and we die with the same passion like at the moment when we realized that we are made for this.
We love men because they make us suffer and feeling alive, they make us knowing that we have feelings, that we have a purpose for passing over the years. We love men because they give us tears and because they are able to wipe them with the simplest words. We love them because they give us frustrations, because in their unconsciousness they make us feel powerful, supreme. We want them next to us because with their simple presence near us we feel protected, because they can spread even the smallest shadow of fear when with their arms they surround our whole being. We love men for the strength they are trying to prove when in front of us they swallow their pain and hide it so when we are not around them anymore they can hide in a corner of a bed as sulky children that collect their tears in a handkerchief. We love men because they give us hope, because they make us tremble every time when they walk out the door giving us the impression that they will never come back. When with a somber look they cover us with a veil of doubt and fear that in the next moment they will disappear, dispelling the entire universe that we built around them. We love men because sometimes they love us too, because sometimes they are able to love us more than we can imagine only they are too weak to accept this. We love them in ignorance, unintentionally, independent of our will. It's something beyond our being, something that comes from inside and can't be stopped with a simple "Stop". We love men for "n" unexplained reasons. We love them because they exist in our lives and because they often give color to our universe so that later also take out the life from it. We love men because we are born to love them and we die loving them.