dear diary,
i am in love.
when i am with her i want to sing an italian operetta in a high voice; i want to launch into a romantic haiku musical; dress in cashmere and play with finger puppets; run out into the rain in my white onesie and feel the drops fall off my baldness.
just being close to her makes me a better man.
eva: young, beautiful, master of hearts.
i don't even think she knows i exist.
she doesn't look my way when i enter a room or applaud when i finger-pince an O. she has no interest in cuddling up to watch the 11 o'clock news and never comments on my outfit selection. just recently, my kiss was returned with a blank, blinking stare. my gropes at her glorious mop of hair are futile.
sometimes i feel emotion emanating from her like a light and the cloud momentarily lifts from her gaze.
it is in these moments i attempt to tell her this:
"i can see us holding hands, walking on the beach with our bottles in hand. i can see us in the county side, sippin on juice, playing side by side."
oh the sweet torment of being young & in love.
indy, 10 months
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