Her Type

"I’m cold and all I want to be is warmed. And I'm sick of these sharks mistaking me for a seal and only realizing after they've bitten me with a brand of charm that only kills women who are dying to die. They're slowly scraping away the rosy film from my glasses while someone else out there has another pair that could combine with mine so well it could make living in the worst of worlds fine. I don’t mean to whine but I’ve read way too much Shakespeare to be able to settle on an ordinary life but maybe not enough to know I don't deserve it. I don't know, I just want you to come here and grab my hand and I want to fucking slow dance until prom turns to post-prom and we're intertwined in body and mind and secure in the knowledge there's no one else we'll ever want to find. Like our quest for love is over and we won and we're one and we're wrapped up together until night wakes the sun. And as it does it pierces through windows into eyelids that lift while lips widen to smiles and bodies shift and arms stretch and our yawns are the bugles that mark the start of another day we're glad to be alive to live. I've got so much to give but you're not here to receive and that's too bad because I had a shitty day and you could make it so much better right now. The universe isn't fair. If it was, we'd be redefining reciprocation and symbiosis right now over cups of hot chai through body language and conversations about ideas instead of people and peppering in sexual innuendo so hot we have to turn off the heat. I’m incomplete and you’re still not here to hold and I’m cold, and all I want to be is warmed."