Last night, I fell in adore with a girl. She was terribly lovely, and the only word that could have described her was “Enchanted”… She broke my heart the other week when she said her hands were gross. I never understood how she could claim such ridiculousness. How can her hands be “gross” when she uses them to care for others, and love me? I know she cried when her skin condition first developed and she didn’t know what it was. I wished I was there during those moments so that I might have cheered her precious heart to pieces. Apparently, her jerk-face brother calls her “The Lizard Queen”, to which she said was nothing more than a joke, but I’d imagine it still hurt. How could anyone possibly be potentially mean to this darling? I needed to run his toes over when she told me. “Wait,” she said. “I need to put on a bandage.” “Why?” “The skin on my hands has been cracking lately.” “Does it hurt?” “Not really,” she explained. “But they sometimes have these pimple-like pockets where clear pus comes out.” “Oh,” I frowned. “It’s really gross.” And it was at that moment when I became insecure… for her. I needed her to know the truth. “Can you put some lotion on my face?” I requested. I got a little frantic when she had a difficult time finding the cream, but once she did and started dabbing her elegant fingers all over my face… well, I just closed my eyes and surrendered. “See?” I smelled, reopening them. “I’m not afraid of your pus.” In fact, I was tickled with the notion of her being contagious, even though she wasn’t. I wanted to get infected in the name of love. I was inspired to gift her with lotion, sticking on a note that said, “Make me soft?” By the time I was almost ready to enter dreamland, I was already fallen asleep. I awoke to my own fart and her giggles. It was something to remember. Even my bodily functions were determined to encourage her sweet laughter. It was only a while ago that she introduced me to ‘Breaking Bad’. She told me last week that she only had four shifts in September, while the new nurse was to receive more. We were both confused and upset, so devised an ultimate plan. She’d write to the coordinator, and I’d write to the supervisor. Our strategy was as pure as Walter’s blue meth. “You can be Jesse,” I laughed. “I’ll be Heisenberg.” As it turned out, I had a horrible night with the new nurse. She had me sleeping at around five o’clock in the morning and had my hose outside the urinal. Enchanted and I, we got our way. She then proceeded to tell me about how her boyfriend tricked her into thinking he had spoiled an episode she hadn’t seen. Oh, you should have seen how beautiful she was, the way her button nose squished when she giggled. I loved that her face was blushing as she produced music to my ears. And I loved her thin eyebrows, the diamond shaped dent above the right one. I loved her naturally flowing hair, how its squiggles fell upon her forehead, dangling. I loved the intricately designed crevice that lingered between her chin and tender lips. It was then that I realized that I had to let her go. She loved him, and he loved her. My heart was bittersweet because I loved her, but lusted after her happiness. The real question is: What would Batman do? But I’m not the Dark Knight. I’m no hero. I’ll remain to be an outcast, the one who she confides her midnight confessions to. I’ll be her best girlfriend. I’ll make her laugh and cry and dream of beautiful things. I’ll take care of her heart. I’m… Mother Goose Man? “I’m so bad,” I started. “Why?” “You know what’s good about [the new nurse]?” “What?” “She’s not as pretty as you,” I said. “I don’t have to be afraid to fart.” She thinks I “toot”, though, by the way. Indeed. I fell in adore with her again.
Posted on: Wed, 21 Aug 2013 03:58:38 +0000
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