Surrealism defeats itself in purpose. While it is not the norm, it is however part of our lives, part of reality. Can't be surreal if it's already happenning.
Singing tangos at 2AM while having insomnia is not surreal. It is certainly weird. And it proved to be way more romantic than your proverbial dinner at Chez Francois Restaurant de le Merde.
It is not possible to ennumerate the number of silly things Eze and I did night before last, or even to account for how silly those silly things were. I can only assure that we had fun... that I had fun enough to be reminded of why I want to spend the rest of my life with the big, cute, adorable lug that is my boyfriend. I felt again the way I had on our first date, even before we had gotten together, a night I was surprised to find out how compatible I was to someone I had until recently considered as "just a friend".
Nights like that one and the one before last are the ones that feed the love and not the lust. Nights that lose us sleep without us noticing, and we don't regret it, even if the day after we're dragging our asses to work at 7AM. Priceless nights, more priceless than that piece of shitty rock from Zales, more priceless than the priceless vacations Mastercard wants you to have. These nights are the ones that compose happinness, make the world go round and make it worth the discomfort in-between.
These are the nights of our lives ...
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