How Do You Get Along Sir?

I promised myself this wouldn't happen.

You're like the boys I'd imagine.

The magicians in the movies.

I'm torn between eradicating every trace of you from my life and wanting you to be a part of it.

This isn't even real.

That's how I keep it under control.

I promise myself it isn't real.

I like it best when I'm out of my mind then I can tell you everything.

Olive green dresses, shiny pinned hair, red lips, and pearly white shoulders.

Gold chains.

You're rough. All of the above meeting a jarring black denim and straight jawline.

This is all wrong. Entertaining notions...since when do I entertain notions? I can't even entertain myself.

I hope I can enjoy you for as long as possible. I don't want you to disintegrate, I don't want you to be like the leaves....I want to trust you and I don't want you to change.

But mainly...I just wish I could meet another magician that's so bohemian like you.