Thoughts of a Violinist Giraffe

She agitates ink to passionate poetry: a smile and a slight tilt of her head                             shake violently a desire to write romantically 'til every drop of ink has been robbed clean off. Her eyes demand dedication on every page of the flyleaf of every journal filled with sentimental wordings only one so love-struck can ever bother          to immortalize with ink. She holds hostage my heart with every laugh she emits from her soul -       every note a chime of bells that send down shivers                 though winter has yet            to visit this time of year. And it visits when she draws near. Her fingers touch the tip of my shoulders and I feel every bit of warmth         from her warm-hearted soul.         How can I thin...

I don't see her as often as I would like to - and it's obvious to everyone that I would very much like to. Or  at least everyone but her. Maybe she's oblivious, who knows? She knows. And I would like to know what she knows and if what she knows is remotely related to me. I want to know if she knows I exist - am I a presence in her presence, as present as my thoughts just formed? Regardless of this knowledge - whether I have it or not - I will make every seeming inconsequential effort to fuel the barest hint of her interest in me as much as there is my interest in her. And when I have fanned the flames of attraction, I can bask in its warmth and hope to work a love tried and true and divinely given. But then, I don't see her often. 'Til this obstacle has been breached, I will hold my romantic notions. 12/6/13 ~~~~~~~~~~~ One from the past year. Cheers!

Maybe I'm mistaken. Maybe the fact you would've chosen me had you been completely free wasn't fact at all - just presumption: me being excessively stubborn, even though it's been clearly said in not-so-bold letters and symbols,                  words and sentences, that I just have no chance... right now. And that one-two punch of "right now"                  drives me up the wall so hard that people have resorted to calling my car                                      "Spiderman". The unfortunate truth being that I'm not so amazing, in comparison to others... maybe. I was so sure what to do had you plainly said "no". I was definitely sure what to do                  a couple steps in, had you said "yes". But the reality is not like that. ...

You're not a book: I don't need to read every one of your signals and wonder what my analysis is when I reach the end. When I push, you either bend or break and I'm left with specks of my once-affectionate, now-broken heart. Of course, that wasn't my intention. Is it ever? I just wanted                           to open up again, let the camera out and take my shot;               let the photograph develop alongside this God-given relationship. You're not a frappuccino                  or a cup of latte that I have to decide between before I can sit back and drink                           in relative peace. But I'll take both; the cashier keeps the change and I'll be better off with both sides of you. I want to know everything about you, so I'll keep ask...