I start by saying that I'm really bad for dates, so I help with whatever is at hand. Days in the calendar frame wall studs fluorescent circles with a pen, add dates to the agenda of the cell or outlook, or ... whatever, in this case: a sms.
That first time I saw you from afar, and I can not deny that from that moment I liked. I saw your hair curly and your back in the distance (ah! because you spent the agreed place) and then I suspected, "she is, it's her egg," as if 'she' was that 'she' I had been waiting. After the talk, and your way of speaking, almost shouting, screaming or-bit, and your gestures and your ways and all your. Be happy ... but nothing else I did not get a number and not even your name.
After the party, and the feeling of being able to come up with something else. That damn feeling that causes the 'have'.
"If ..."
Then ... just you and me.
Then, that first kiss, that first smile just for me, that first EVERYTHING.
... the idea was to put a picture of that message, that message you sent just minutes after you leave home that first night. Remember? Maybe not. I do. (I remember and cherish). Now smile and I keep it to myself thinking that might assume a number like that ... but, that first message.
That first post made me sleep with a stupid smile, waking up with a stupid smile ... you know the rest: just write me smile, smile to see you walk, smile and just see you, smile and listen, smile and be with you, smile for see you smile.
I'm used to such short periods of time than 6 months I have appeared a long time I think about it again and I think that 6 months is too short.
Hopefully this lasts longer.
much more.
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