Seven Days After

So we met again, 7 days after. Without alcohol, without the nervousness of a first meet up, without the hassle of advance preparation. We were just two souls wanting to see each other again.

Yet, 7 days after, you still smell so nice, still look effortlessly gorgeous, and whenever our eyes locked during the conversation, I swear my heart skipped – not only one, but two beats.

And gosh… The impulse to touch and kiss you were ridiculously unbearable.

I. Crave. You.

Even more now.

More than 7 days before.

Things I Don’t Write

Photo Courtesy of thousandofdaysforyou

Photo Courtesy of thousandofdaysforyou

My post today will not be about how wonderful it is to be able to spend time with you, nor how special it was for me.

This post will not be about how lovely you are, nor how comfortable you made me feel.

And although I could describe how nice your scent is, how warm your hug is, and how kissable those lips are, this post will not be about all of the above.

No matter how true they are.

Teenage Professional Adults

Blurred my name on purpose

disclaimer: blurred my name on purpose

Today I got a pleasant surprise from you. As if you already knew how terrible today would be for me.

I had endless meetings here and there, hardly eaten anything, terribly dependent on coffee to kept me going. And by 5PM I was already tired, in my worst mood, and super cranky.

Until I went back to my place and saw something on my desk.

A bouquet of beautiful fresh flowers.

My initial thought – that came across my hazy mind, was that someone must have mistakenly put that flowers on my desk. And then I saw the red card. With my name on it.

I was stunned. No one has ever sent me flowers. Yes, in my entire existence that is.

I rushed off to open the card, half panicked half excited because I didn’t know who the romantic sender was. The first thing I saw was your initial. Come to think of it now, I guess I read it the wrong way – bottom to top instead the other way around. But who cares? My endorphin levels skyrocketing to the roof. Nah, the roof is not even high enough.

After unsuccessfully composing myself; read: hysterical, I texted you to say thank you. You were pretty cool about it. How I wish I could read your mind at that exact moment.

“I am a person of action.” I remember you said that in one of our late night conversations. And today, I am impressed. Not only that you are a person of action, but also a person of your word.

And wow… how lucky I am.