1-2-3-4 (5) Captain's personal log. Damn! God-damn.
I sense a great burden of emotion, and I'm constrained to write. Wreath, goddammit now, I really wanted to go on that bike ride today. It was not just some "wild
hair" that I might have had, it was our first date you cancelled.
I knew it was too good to hope for. Too wild of an
assumption. You're toying with me. I am nothing. I should have known I didn't stand a chance.
So I may cry in my beer while you file your nails and get
ready to spend this memorial day weekend with your old friends from
Magalia. Be Careful, Honey Child. May we ride bikes again on another
day,
assuming no one snatches you up this weekend forever.
Goddamn fuckin' tragic, the way I've fallen for you all of a
sudden. You matter more to me right now than, oh, say alot of
things, and I don't just mean like brussel sprouts, which I wouldn't
like anyway.
Honey, please don't change over this weekend and be gone
forever and ever. I couldn't stand that. I so recently found you. You are a
treasure. One in a million.
I may be a compulsive wretch, in writing these
desperate words of praise, but at least I'm a wretch with taste. You are the
finest. And well, to be without you or at least the hope of you in my heart, is,
well, unfulfilling, to say the least.
Ok, well, my brain and body are conking out on me anyway.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.