thrill-seeker, cake eater

We had dinner tonight and it was different. It still is somewhat surreal to me because I was myself, and I know you sold me nothing short of yourself. If we had visible auras backlighting our silhouettes like brilliant neon backdrops I'd imagining ours to be the synergy of orange and crimson hues. Orange because you are like the hot afternoon sun through closed lids, and I stand there in complete submittance to your radiation. Red because it is my favourite shade to leave your skin flushed with. I don't ever recall a time in my life where conversation with someone of the opposite sex did not connotate the desire to uplift one's personality and "sell" oneself, marauding for compliments and to leave an impression, then I met you. Without even trying you have left me in the queerest puzzlement regarding the charm you hold in thinking you have none. I have drank from my Perspex cup about 53 times, each time peering over its rim not wanting to break your gaze. It feels like if I blink you might possibly disintegrate and I would return to the days I'd get a table for one and act like I've got it all together when all I really am craving for is somebody to love, and all I am is surface cracks concealed with thick coats of paint. I think one day you noticed the frayed edges and you picked at it on pure human instinct. The more it broke away in tiny flakes, the more you scratched and pinched. I hope when you finally manage to tear away a significant area, you'll be surprised at what you find. What I'm trying to say is we are all unfinished, lacking in vital parts, short of a coat of lacquer, huge yellow signs cautioning "works in progress". Or I'll speak for myself, I am. But you aren't afraid, in fact, I bet you'd take the challenge.

Game on.