A Perfect Week
I’m putting on my boxers and jeans, first one leg, then the other, and I feel a hand caress my back and hear the words ‘you’re perfect.’
‘No,’ I say, fastening my jeans and throwing on my tee. ‘I’m not.’
‘Well, you’re perfect for me.’
I put on my shoes, grab my keys and head for the door, saying, ‘give it a week.’
‘No,’ I say, fastening my jeans and throwing on my tee. ‘I’m not.’
‘Well, you’re perfect for me.’
I put on my shoes, grab my keys and head for the door, saying, ‘give it a week.’
Posted @ 6:19 AM
6 Comments:
8/15/2005
Anonymous writes:
Anonymous writes:
Anonymous writes:
hot babe writes:
Anonymous writes:
Erik writes:
Perfection is a relative thing. I've come to realize that a big part of my partner's attraction is that he is flawed...making him perfect for me.
Dad
8/15/2005
What do you mean I'm flawed?
8/15/2005
Ha! Good one, Papa Mark.
But I'm wondering...aren't you supposed to try to keep them, not drive them away?
8/15/2005
I'm curious. Are you afraid of intimacy? Caring too much? Rejection (so you beat them to it)? Falling off the pedastal? FInally being truely happy? Losing yourself in someone else?
Mind you, I ask myself some of the very same questions.
8/15/2005
Oh my! Your parents read your blog?!?!?!
YOU may not be perfect, but you are AMAZING.
8/20/2005
Hot Babe~
What makes you think its me I'm trying to protect?
Post a Comment
Home