"I like the way you think"
The conversation was flowing perfectly by the stew cooking on the beach fire. Surrounded by birthday drunks, I told you of the defaced, plastic, light-up virgin Mary I keep in my window, to freak out passers by and protect my home from would-be wrong-doers. This is when you said it and I knew you meant it and I knew you got it and you had me from there. You’ve occupied a portion of my thoughts ever since.
Do I decidedly curse myself with the tragedy, yet again, of a possible love unable to to be shared with my own? I settle for friendship because you are that amazing but often crying inside. Not because I cannot “have” you but because I cannot remember the last time a gentleman said such words to me and because I do not know if they will ever be said again.