Originally Posted: 2006-02-09 12:04am
I'm getting married! - w4m
Okay, I'm not getting married...but I'm with someone now and I think we're going to be very happy together. I think this is it. Forever.
All right, we're not really together so to speak, you know... boyfriend and girlfriend... but we're very important to each other... best friends really.
Well, maybe not best friends. Maybe more like just really close to each other. Really tight.
And I do mean that -- really tight, really close... but maybe not in the sense of "close friends" -- maybe more like close... strangers. Tight and close together in a physical manner, more than an emotional sense. But you can't deny the sparks that flew when we, as strangers, gazed longingly into each other's eyes, right? It was so beautiful!
Okay, not so much gazed longingly as glanced appreciatively... but the attraction was undeniable, you have to agree.
All right, maybe glanced appreciatively doesn't describe it either. But I'm fairly sure you caught a glimpse of my forehead in your peripheral vision. A passionate glimpse. And that's an amazing connection.
So, maybe not a connection so much as a nervous assessment. But I believe that anxiety over what we have is only natural, given the astounding sexual tension. Couldn't you feel it rattling between us?
Perhaps the rattling had something to do with the subway train, but I really felt one with you. One with you in the sense that we were so close, we were almost one person. Maybe my body swinging into yours as the train rounded a curve was a bit jarring... but only in a way that two universes colliding could be called "a bit jarring." You didn't have to move away from me... it's natural, truly. But perhaps the raw chemistry between us was too much for you. Or it might have been the heel of my boot in the arch of your foot.
I feel we were meant to be...I know you. But I don't really know you, so if you read this, Mr. Orange-Manhattan-Portage-Bag-and-Rust-Colored-Corduroy-Jacket-on-the-R-train, sorry about tromping on your foot and ramming my bag into your gut. But Love Hurts, right? Call me?
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