A thousand meaningless words flow through an effortless course from my heart to my lips but they only escape in whispers of what I really wish I could say to you. You really have no idea how much I would love to bare my soul and be accepted for it. Every girl I look at I wish it was you, I wish it was your touch that I was feeling but I know that if it was, then the magic of the pure idea of you would be broken. But the corruption of that purity reaches out from that singular muscle that yearns for you to reach out to me and just speak. Love is a cascading ideal. Pure and honest until human implement it onto another human being and it degrades over time. Surely that one true love does not, like everything good in life it ripens with age and does not spoil. And even with the brief glimpse of time you’ve given me, allowed me access, I know eventually I will compare every girl I know to you until such time you are slipped from my memory. But now, this moment, even after several months of little contact and only with such bravery that I can barely write this in a medium I know you will never read, I hope these feelings reach out to you somehow, somewhere, and you can start to feel them for me as well. Hopeless, romantics are to remain alone so they may remain romantics. Because in the history of the world, no man who has found his one true love was known to that world as a romantic any longer, but a lover to that one. This makes no sense… but it is how I feel at this moment. To those that read it, enjoy.