Ett ögonblick.

Why, he asks and she cannot understand. Does it matter? Already she feels this fickle human emotion, love they call it, and now they ask her to define it? Where she comes from emotions are far from definable and as far as she has gathered, so are theirs. Yet humans, this curious species, seem to have this intense need for labelling everything they come across. It is supposed to be short, dark, funny, intense, red or anything or everything and she still cannot see the need for it. Is there a need for it, or is it the mind of these humans, calling for attention and order in a world so far from it? They do not know much of this people, not yet, and that is why she is here, why she has travelled so far away and so far from home and it is why she even could fall in love with the impossible man in the first place. She suspects he is just like any other human man but to her he is exotic and different, far, far away from her greenish scales and her eyes in the colour that humans have no name for yet. She has not told him her people do not have a name for it either because he wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t get why they don’t. Just as she doesn’t get what he wants know. She loves him, and so she told him and then he smiled that brilliant smile which rapidly result in her species equivalent of a grin the way it always does. What she cannot understand is this constant need for why, this desperate chase for reasons and answers and twirling underlying thoughts considering the purpose of life. But she loves him and so in the end she makes up for a reason because she knows how thrilled he will be and how happy and content he will look when he returns the favour. She sure loves him.

fjortonde augusti tvåtusentio