I dealt with this question all my life. I read the greatest thinkers, I pondered on countless books. I drowned in deep conversations, and at the end of all of it. 

I wondered,

Why?

Unrelated to the ideas in the books, the conversations, the thinkers and the philosophers, just why should I go through with all of this? 

Why was I put here in the first place? Why did I make the decisions I made? Why did I entertain the ideas I entertained?

Then one evening as the summer officially passes and the breeze is cold— I’m sitting alone in the balcony in a beautiful country, a sudden sense of gratitude passes over me. 

What for? I ask myself. For her.

The clouds are blue, but not as blue as the shirt she chose for me.

The evening is calm, but not as calm as her the tip of her fingers gently pressing on my eyelids.

The wind is soothing, but not as soothing as her smile after a forehead kiss.

The lights are joyful, but not as joyful as her—when she brings the top of her hair together posing for a picture. 

The weather is pleasant and relieving, but not as relieving as her chest under my cheeks.

What for, I ask?

For her.

Boundless hope. Spurt of new ideas. Unlimited motivation. 

For her.