I open my eyes in the morning. your smiling face comes to mind.it's like opening a window and the sun is you. I get overwhelmed with sensations of joy, love and enthousiasm for live.
joie de vivre , I think the French call it.
that's what you are to me.
I am aware how unrealistic my words sound. if you didn't know me you'd think I'm some creepy pervert* hitting on you.
but you do know me.
you know that my words sound extreme and unrealistic only because my feelings are extreme and unrealistic. please note that their hyperbolic status does not render their veracity null (neither the words nor the feelings).**
I remember your stupid theory that these feelings would deflate with the passage of time because they were only by-products of my then newborn lust.
even my lust wasn't genuine to you but a mere symptom of my middle age crisis.
I was insulted with how easy it was for you to disregard anything I had to say.
I remember how easy it could have been to retort by calling you a young cynical bitch.***
I chose to swallow my pride (which believe it is the hardest thing a man has to do).
I know I'm not writing anything new, anything you don't already know. it's just that the moments that I think of you are so great in numbers and so immence in stature that I want to share them with you.
the life span of the feeelings, of the moments is a mystery that only time will solve.
allow me to love you with the passion of a madman until then, Mary Jane
*sometimes Ido feel like a creepy pervert when I'm around you but that's your fault because you are so damn sexy.
**maybe I have being watching too much "Big Bang Theory. I am starting to sound like Sheldon.
***I also remember with the greatest amount of nostalgia how sweet and innocent you loooked at the time (and young and bitchy)