It sucks when you're forced to not think about the person that makes your world spin round and round until your punch-drunk-dizzy with foolish Love. Birthdays and holidays important to them are erased from the notepads of chivalry and the discreet sheets of a damsels diary. A once long and lengthy to do list full of charming and caring errands are now crossed out...
And not because you're purposely neglecting what's meaningful to them, but because it's what you need to do in order to get over them. I mean, Less than a yard stick away across a quaint little dinner table made special for two. Lit with illume candles, pineapple-plum scented which makes the evening even sweeter....An intoxicated host "the crystal carafe" also known as "the functioning drunk" or "the panty key" stands tall decorating the center piece with it's belly less than half full (because the thirst of lust makes the two of you so parched that you become instant lush) of a perfectly aged, cellar temperature wine. Gourmet food prepared by some top chef lays pretty like a model relaxing on a foreign beach, but its sand is fine china... hand crafted and tagged with the neat signature of the dreamer who built the dream that holds the seat up underneath your cheeks. A grateful date who is not afraid to spend your time and enjoy it...sits with: Honest eyes focused only on seeing the possibilities of how in Love the two of you could be; Pure Patience for your growth like a botanist raising a rare plant; and amazing attention to your unique detail like some crazed OCD patient. Yet all we do is think about you....And why?
