I want to know you. The real you. Everything about you.
You captivated me the minute I first saw you on my morning commute. I have never seen someone so gorgeous get stuck between the train doors like that. The doors Heimliched one of those hefty Ricola cough drops out of your mouth and into mine, and it lodged in my windpipe. I choked, but tried to play it cool by returning to drafting an e-mail to the animal shelter about how it needs to take my dipshit dog back before I abandon her in an IKEA for some horrible family to take pity on. Is it not fate that you and I both love and/or like and/ or tolerate honey lemon?