To my lover

August 14, 2008

Dear Lover,

It’s 3 a.m. and our song is playing. *sigh* No amount of chamomile can whack me out at this point. My mind is wandering far far away to memories of us. But mostly of YOU.

I remember mindless things about you. It’s all about you and how you’re grin can always melt me into oblivion.

Your eyes that welcome mine and let’s me invade your soul (on certain occasions). There’s this unexplained serenity that envelopes me whenever I look at them.

And your nose, so perfect that I curse under my breath and wished that I inherited my mom’s instead.

It’s that sheepish smile that would make all the shitty stuff go away. It’s like a burst of sunshine or a splash of cold water.

Or that awkward laugh that makes me wonder if you really find my jokes funny or you’re just being polite. I know I suck.

Your breath smells like fresh magnolias. I wonder where they came from? I must be delusional.

You taste like confectionery sugar. I will probably die of diabetes.

But you kiss like a girl. You kiss with caution as if you’re kissing a new born’s head. I respect your sense of restraint. Whatta wuss.

I remember how your hug seems like endless silk sheets covering me, protecting me. And whenever you do, it feels like a shield that will dodge any bullet that would come along the way.

I remember how you pinch my cheek every now and then. I often get offended because it feels like you’re measuring the thickness of my face or how much weight I’ve gained after our hearty dinner.

However, you always reassure me by telling me that you have a cheek fetish. I’d like to think that you’re telling the truth.

You always give me weird names which excludes phatty or chubby cheeks. How my self-esteem adores you.

You never run out of stories. You never bore me. I find some of your jokes lame but you never fail to put a smirk on my face.

You love touching my hair or smelling it. You always stroke or brush it. It makes me wonder if you’re a hairdresser in your past life.

You’ve got mad, mad, mad guitar skills. I envy you so. I fail to impress you as mine have been reduced to mere plucking–like that of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star or Bah-bah Black Sheep.

I remember the first time you played for me. I almost felt a cardiac arrest coming.

Your love letters are like that of Shakespeare but only I can decipher (with the help of google of course).

I admire your HIGH I.Q. in as much as I admire how different your fart sounds.

You make me TEEHEE or SQUEE.

You make me giggle like a little catholic school girl.

In return of your awesome display of affection and loyalty, I will be your partner in crime, your theoretical slave, your cave woman, your man handler, your fashion police, your body double, your English tutor, your travel agent, your movie night- buddy, your erm…friend with benefits, your number one groupie and try to fulfill your deepest, darkest or even geekest desires.

So dear lover, here I am loaning you my heart and soul. Return to sender in case it’s defective.However, break any of the two and I will surely cut your balls and feed it to our neighbor’s dog.

TEEHEE.

I love you, Lover.

 

Lucy