I remember when you first handed me your pen, childishly twirling it between your fingers.
Yes it was to sign up for the band’s mailing list you were helping out that night, but I’m choosing to believe you sneakingly used it as an opportunity to get my number.
But you never called.
Instead, I did get a reminder about the band’s next gig.
But if you had called, I’d tell you I was too intimidated to ask for your number, because guys like me don’t get girls like you.
You who can cause library books to shout so loud that librarians would get nervous.
You whose amazing voice can shatter crystal glasses of ignorance.
And you whose lips, well, what else can I say.
Moist, but not too wet, like the cool of a slightly wintered evening.
The fog slowly rolling in and the street lights barely waking up, causing a feathered hue to illuminate the night.
You whose eyes see past my facade, they cut my manliness in half letting me know it’s ok to be…
So, if I’m being honest…
Will you marry me?
I know. I know. We just met.
But guys like me don’t get girls like you, so I want the privilege of calling you my wife before Prince Charming can sweep you off of your feet.
Your beauty makes Photoshopped Victoria’s Secret models want to hit the undo button.
Or Command Z, because I can’t stand Windows and PCs.
Pretty cute is what I thought when I first met you.
Your smile grabs time by the throat and cuts off its circulation, so that the world can pause to admire you.
Your curves can make atheists believe in a Creator.
And when God plugged in the quarter inch into His Fender, your voice mesmerizingly inspired Hendrix’s Electric Ladyland
You make me want to be the metaphor that people actually take seriously.
You transform me into the sixteen bars that made up amazing verses way back when hip hop was actually good.
You fill me up with confidence like helium to a ballon and I’m left floating into the clouds so I can give angels high fives as we applaud the great job that God did in creating you.
You’re the definition of love.
You are every man’s dream and every girl’s inspiration.
The thought of you is like a collision of candy apples and smooth milk chocolate.
Because who doesn’t like candy apples and smooth milk chocolate?
And if anyone were to say they didn’t like candy apples and smooth milk chocolate, everyone would know that they were lying.
You turn lies into the truth.
And truth is…
I’m so glad we met.
In fact, here’s my number.
Give me a call someday.