I don’t know what’s right, but I know he was holding me, standing in my kitchen, an excuse of a kitchen, and I was looking out of the window at the skyline, the silhouettes of the trees against the white of the evening sky, my head turning after the Champagne, and I felt so small and insignificant, I said I didn’t understand why my friends liked me and he said, because you are you, no one is like you, I love you he said, and I cried and cried, you are really special because you are you he said and suddenly I was aware that nobody had ever made me a real compliment, no one had ever said that I was anything at all.
And I held his head and touched the stubble at the small of his neck and I held him tight and squeezed him, to show him how much I loved him, because words fail me and deceive me, and he just held me against him, and that was all I needed, that’s all I need, all I will ever need, his love and understanding of who I am
(…) then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes
James Joyce