My fascination wasn’t with her body, although it was a wonderful treasure. My fascination wasn’t with her voice or anything you could perceive with any of the standard senses. It was this strange sixth… or seventh sense of being around her that made a frisson start at my toes and speed through my veins like some of the finest heroin that you could never buy.
Beyond that sense, my fascination, was with her scent, her peacefulness, her intelligence, her glow. Amazed I was, dumbfounded as well. Speaking what I needed, couldn’t, wouldn’t, never happened.
I want somebody to share, share the rest of my life. Share my innermost thoughts, know my intimate details… Someone who won’t be easily converted to my way of thinking, perhaps someone who will care for me passionately. Maybe see things in a different light. She’ll have to be herself, because that fascinates me. She’ll will adore my fascination with her. She will be understanding, outstanding, notwithstanding.
She will like love music. Not a genre, not an artist, just music.
She will love insane, unsane, notsane. The ‘norm’ is just too passé.
She won’t care about luxiries, materials, money. Just life.
She won’t stress when her hair is a mess. She won’t waste hours putting on warpaint.
She’ll fascinate me. She’ll be fascinated by me.
She’s my fascination.
… now where is she?
Pass the butter?
Add to favorites 
Want lovin
I’ll give you some
That’s deep.
That’s beautiful…well done
She’s there somewhere.