It’s hard to imagine a connection of any kind ever being able to have this effect on me. Yet, when it’s you and I, from the moment you step out of the cab right up until I swoon myself to sleep, the rest of the world quietly fades away into soft focus, my mushy playlist the soundtrack for these ridiculously happy days. It’s some Photoshop-Magic-Lasso of sorts that just neatly outlines you and I, cropping the background away, leaving me lost in your world. Not that you’re going to get that analogy, seeing as you’re the dinosaur that you are, but hey that’s not so bad. Almost every kid likes dinosaurs, anyway. I know I did, and I evidently still do.
Remember that photo I sent you one morning? The one with the silly, ecstatic-to-the-point-of-looking-almost-crazed, drunk-looking expression on my face. (I wasn’t actually drunk, by the way.)
That’s how you make me feel.
I’m racking my brain trying to think of some way to write these words – words I’m trying to use to paint the picture of perfection that you are, yet they’re failing me. Maybe they’ve been used up in one of those long conversations that stretched on through everything and nothing, back around the universe thrice over and threatened to keep on going indefinitely, making it harder each time for me to tear my eyes off your face and go home. Time flies when I’m with you, and it’s probably about time I threw in the towel and gave up trying to put my finger on it, on what exactly it is about you that keeps me going straight back to you, as though I’ve some GPRS device (yes you now know what this is!) hardwired to my brain, programmed – and determined – to end up right back there with’
you, lost and lonely; you, strange as angels dancing in the deepest ocean, twisting in the water. You’re just like a dream.