A Lover's Essay:
It's like euphoria, sitting next to you on the park bench. You smell like Suave Mountain Breeze Conditioner, which smells more like the Andes than the Alps. There's a subtle hint of Alpaca to its scent. I can think of nothing but how your dirty converse sneakers are ruggedly beautiful. It's like you don't give a damn, but I know you do. The holes in your jeans show that you know how to get down and roll around in the hay, but the lack of straw remnants on your clothing show that you know how to pick off straw remnants from your clothes. Just as you probably question the government, I definitely question why fate had not brought us together years earlier. That book you read, I've never heard of it, it makes you look smart, and that's why you're beautiful. When I subtly look into your eyes I can only see your thick rimmed glasses. This is your way of telling all people, but specifically me, that you need to wear these glasses, that you're not perfect. But I know you are perfect, you probably don't even need to wear those glasses. You humility screams so loudly. I clench my hands over my ears and hum. I pretend to listen to what I think your metallic green iPod nano is playing. I guess that you may be listening to the highly bloggable band 'The Teenagers' but then I realize you are tapping two of your fingers against your knee relatively quickly and I assume that you are probably listening to a more electro-rock band like "Does It Offend You, Yeah?". It doesn't offend me. I digg it. I've digged it.
Now you notice that I have been awkwardly staring at you, and bobbing my head while singing along imaginary music. You scowl. I grin and reach out to you, my Lovely. You run. Ah, yes, the chase is a very important part to courtship. I will play along, I beckon; "I'm gonna get you!" and I chase afterwards with my hands grasping for your hair. Oh, no! I see that you've left your jacket-less book upon the park bench. I will salvage it. There's a lot of creepy people in any given park, I wouldn't want them doing unmentionable things to your favorite Russian author's masterpiece. You've fled. Vanished into the ethereal depths of my memories. I may never see you again. Until I realize that your book club meets on Damen at 8:30 every Tuesday night. It seems that I might see you again, after all. I'll be the guy in the beret. No, not that one, the other one, the one to the left of the red head who says 'eclectic' a lot. No, not the guy you're thinking of, he has auburn hair and a well-trimmed goatee. I would have said, "well-trimmed goatee" if I were talking about him. I'm talking about the red head who wears those jackets with more pockets than he has items to hold. Got it? Good. See you there, my Lovely.