You were always so phlegmatic, smiling so big, grinning so wide while pressing the pads of your fingertips, creating the lightest of touches, against the arms of any man who ever spent a beat of a second too long entranced by you because you craved the attention. You craved having the ability of having others fall in love with you, and sometimes I can't help but feel thoughtless for ever thinking that you and I both, together, was any different. All I am is a fool scampering around for a bit of your love, and I promise you that generosity never looked so good as it does when you speak about wishing to kiss me while I kid myself into thinking your set of words haven't been articulated just long hours ago in front of the likes of a mass all dedicated heavily to you just as much as me.
