Overdue

I'm feeling a bit floopy today and something has been on my mind. Something that I don't think I've given the proper amount of attention to. And now, since my brain seems to be stuck on a thought loop, like a skipping 45 bleating out a single word over and over and over (A 45 is a record young boys and girls. Those big, black, round things made out of vinyl that played music on turntables. A turntable is...awww, forget it), I'm compelled to write about this because, well, I fucking feel like it.

So there's this guy. This amazing, incredible, brilliant guy. Let me tell you a little bit about him. He's one talented mother fucker. And I'm dead serious about this. I'm in constant awe over the words he artistically crafts across a page. It's just not possible to read his textual gems without uttering an audible "wow". Not only is he funny as shit, but he weaves a tale vivid with eloquence and unexampled exposition. He gives great story.

Most people go through life in a daze. Not him. He soaks it all in. Most people see black and white. Not him. He sees shades of gray. In fact he sees colors that most of us can't, like his eyes are made of some supernatural material that allows more life in. He's like a silent sponge ingesting his surroundings and letting the unnecessary clamber and clutter roll off without a letting the ineffectual make a dent in his armor. And he's able to shut it all down when the rest of us are fretting about inconsequential crap.

He doesn't try too hard, grabbing you by the neck, shaking the life out of you so he can selfishly use it for his own purposes. Although I'm sure he's pinched a few fuckers when they've gotten too close. A man needs his space. He's lived 10 lives around mine, in his 29 years, and is the coolest person on the planet. He can hold his liquor and his low, sexy voice rocks me to the core. Speaking to him on the phone is enough to make me feel like I'm wrapped in a warm blanket with someone gently kissing my face.

He's HOT. And not just hot in the way that I want to grab his face and jam my tongue down his throat, then smother his head between my tits. His body puts out enough heat to melt buttah, or at least keep a cabin in the woods warm for the WHOLE WINTER. He's got an internal combustion system that should be studied by science. (I suspect he's an X-men and one day I'll witness flames shooting out of his ass.) But mostly he's so adorable that I can't keep my hands off of him and his fuzzy head.

He doesn't hand the lighter to you, he's a gentleman and flicks the bic for you. He's the master of his own life and appreciates a good thing. He'd never let his own shit interfere with anyone else's, be you friend or foe, if he can help it. He's got an envious set of pipes that puts Lars Ulrich to shame. He's a great kisser with the best lips. He gives me aftershocks from 500 miles away. He makes me dissolve with bliss every time he calls me baby.

He's not afraid to say "I love you".

I'm quite sure I haven't done justice enough for how I truly feel about him, but this man rocks my world, makes me laugh, makes me feel safe and valued, and I love him. More every day.

And that, my friends, was gushing.