Bleets

Cursed by the angst of a jealous Cupid; damned by his fetish
People like me can’t fall in love.
Instead, we stumble, plummeting deep into the abyss of emotional rollercoaster.
And this has been my favourite ride yet.
This – you, us – is the one thing I don’t feel the need to fix.
Because how do you fix perfection?
In statistics, qualitative data are data that do not have numerical value.
But I’ve managed to put a number on you – 100 – the number of years I hope we spend together.
I love you so much, I’ve lost my urge to write; to piece words together and convince myself I have the penmanship of Robert Ludlum.
I love you so much the only thing I want to do is to rehearse jokes. Go over them in my head. Make sure the delivery is perfect.
So much, the only thing I want to do is watch you laugh till tears fill your eyes. You see, your laughter is perfect, just like you.
Seeing you get breathless from laughing the other day is still my favourite memory etched into my mind.
I often play it back like a loop and plot ways on how to recreate it.
There’s nothing in the world more beautiful.
I’ve never been more at peace with being a clown.
This has been my favourite ride yet.
And this time, I hope the engine never stops running.

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