Madly in love. Here’s what he says. With a zest for life, with the power to create. B 87. The elixir of his full daily life, his full life, motivation and enjoyment is love. The one who has gone through forty-five years in marriage, not always smooth, but managed to survive.

In the short romantic autobiography “Love at the age of 80+” (published by Patakis), Nikos Dimos captures the feeling that he still enjoys, or rather, especially at this age thanks to his life-giving partner. He describes the components of a long-term relationship, the small daily habits of affection, and how they evolve with the duration, depth, and perhaps even temporal fluctuations of the feeling. He recalls the beginning of the acquaintance, revealing the catalyst for the mutual “I want you”, the generosity reflected in the first big, expensive, hopeless gift that he gives to his future wife, offers libations in their common bed.

But he also takes a modest approach to the philosophical question of the limits of love, stating the certainty that they do not exist.

Old lovers, a couple of early years still exist with the same passion, maybe even more in recent years, after so many decades of living together. The ingredients in this treatment flow effortlessly. Respect and gratitude, admiration and mutual support, passion and tenderness, and that return of a man to the arms of a woman, which now feels maternal. About a man banishing inevitable death, protected by a fearless relationship.

In the short romantic autobiography “Love at 80+”, Nikos Dimos captured the feeling that he still enjoys, or rather, especially at this age thanks to his life-giving partner.

He dedicates a book to her. An act of unconditional love. And then he lets us know as he hugs her. We know a love poem that was written in ancient times. Yet it highlights the emotional circumstances in which it was written. He experiences absolute, lasting happiness. And he would love her even if she had a different body, but the fact that she looks and feels new helps him.

They genuinely and intensely enjoy each other, and then he lets the reader linger on their headboard to see what’s just for the two of them. The great freedom of feeling on which life’s choices are based is suddenly bound by the knowledge it offers to others, third parties, strangers.

A deeply touching autobiography, a celebration of a union that has endured and continues to endure time, which makes the creator and accomplice of the highest love joy and union proud, comes into the light to move. Stir up the stagnant waters of apathetic relationships, comfortable cohabitations, prescribed paths. It mobilizes. But he succeeds, bringing to the surface what is intended only for the two of them. Something that is not hidden, but not for the touch of third parties. What are not secrets, but exist to unite the two, and no more.

This is life, a life far from survival, everything that is described on these few, small pages, overflowing with a feeling of love. A life that would exist without becoming the property of many, a life part of which does not concern anyone else, but only the two of them.

What if it hadn’t been written? If this love had not burst forth in the merciless light of summer? Wouldn’t it? There would be. There are things we don’t share, now that the age wants us to share everything, things we haven’t learned, now that everyone wants to know, things that keep the joy of love, that only concern two lovers, that can’t be more greater, more honest, more enduring, if others know about it. It’s enough for the two of them to share her gaze. Enough.