Peaking Tongue

In the passion I've lost my identity. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? I've charged myself with forgery, for copying your charisma and stealing your scent from your body. Romance is my version of down-time, alone time, sentimental reflection, a cigarette hanging from someone else's mouth, and the smell of my aunt and uncle tainting my nostrils and lungs. I'm elated. I'm happy. So I smile so big that I share my teeth with your shirt. You reciprocate affectionately with a smile of your own. I know I'm appreciated; your smile is perfectly symmetrical. We're of the opposite sex, but I have a boyfriend and you're not him. I burp you laugh. You snort I smile. My life doesn't end when we're apart. But I feel a stimulus inside when you're around that cannot be replicated by anyone else.

For all of the men in my life, thank you.

Whether you think you're important or not, you are. The minor things you do; the way you treat me with sincerity and as one of the guys, or how you're able to deteriorate the barrier I've so skillfully woven to protect myself... you've all helped me in more ways than I can possibly communicate. You may believe you're just an acquaintance, or that we don't have a relationship, but simply the fact that you share a sincere smile with me is enough to help bring me out of an oppressive space.

Thanks guys... for everything. You mean the world to me.