Like real passionate love, the kind that consumes you, keeping you up at night, the kind you’re not supposed to find online, or so we’re told. We only met once, at a party. We didn’t really speak to one another. And yet, scrolling through your feed paying close attention to make sure I don’t accidentally “like” something betraying my invisible presence in your life, I feel as though I know you.
You’ve traveled, you’ve lived and been everywhere spanning so many countries and continents I lose count. For someone like me with perpetual wanderlust, that’s an appealing thing. I want someone to go on adventures with and I want it to be you.
You cook, in fact you used to be a chef, which as far as I’m concerned is the sexiest job a guy can have right after a musician, a writer, or a penniless painter. A chef is an artist in his own right. Make me dinner and I am all yours.
Your sister is sick, that I know, and you post asking to keep her in our thoughts and prayers. It shows me that even though religion doesn’t govern your life, you still have faith and would never judge me for my beliefs.
You can pull off a suit like it’s no ones business and you’re a fan of vests. Guess what? Me too.
You take pictures and collect things and document your life. The little things are important, the little details have meaning. You have a sense of humour that I get, and you’re smart without being too academic about it.
You’re a stud and I know that a guy like you is never going to go for a girl like me, but I can still look at your Facebook profile and imagine what it would be like if you did.
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