Love Report

I think it's a love record. It's like head paper. You know your name is written. Or just like the report cards in primary school. The more successful you were in the class, the more points you got. According to the average of their grades, they would give you appreciation-thank documents. That's exactly what I mean, even if it's not like that.
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First of all, heart measurement centers should be installed and the capacity of everyone's heart can be measured with the devices there. 100 people can be evaluated by the size of the heart and the capacity to love. This value should be the most important score affecting the average in the report card. Because the young children of love are low in love, when they say ‘I love you very much Küçük they should be considered within their own capacity, many of them.

Then the devices that read the brain waves should be able to measure the strength of friendship between the brain and the heart. No, maybe, his heart is big, but if the brain can't get these signals, we have something to do. Or vice versa, the woman's heart is small, but with the heart of the brain, they are deprived of their deficits, the brain torpedo does not pass to the heart ... Do not think the man on the opposite side of me like this woman. Ultimately, the reality of the data / information from the heart is important.
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I don't know, we've got to have scores or something among themselves, so we can see which side is out there. For example, you are saying that you love the woman now, but you've got your reproductive score and your head is gone, and you're naturally entwined with a strange inner smearing sensation. Your dreams are always under the waist. If the balance of the woman's scores is the same as you, no problem, of course, if the satisfied satisfied field. The problem is that the libido that you know at this point should not be called love. No, it should be told to the mixers, what is love and breeding instinct. Then they shouldn't be disappointed when they meet people who smell pure sex against those who think they are loved. Nothing, not the ones who take this smell.