We were meant to be together …
Remember the first time I saw you? No? Stop playing. I know you do. You were crossing the street going to work. You wore that yellow skirt and the blue top with the white collar. Remember? You pretended not to see me, but I knew from that moment that we were meant to be together.
Now look at you. Here. Where you’re meant to be.
Sure, it took a little longer than I expected. But true love means being patient, doesn’t it? Nobody has ever been as patient as me. Nobody! You’re so beautiful. We’re going to have a great future.
Let me fix your hair for you. Ahhhhh, your hair. I love the way it feels. Mmmm, the smell of your hair. Sorry about getting dirt in your hair. Sort of unavoidable though, obviously. But after dinner, we’re going to wash you hair.
I’ll be back after dinner.
I love you.
Couldn’t even finish dinner thinking about you down here all alone. You’re so beautiful. We were meant to be together. You know that now, don’t you?
True love means doing things for someone else. Things that don’t make sense. True love doesn’t make sense. Normal men will do absolutely abnormal things to get the attention of a woman.
Knights fought dragons for women.
Spacemen travel through wormholes, crossing galaxies for women.
So taking that crappy janitor job in your office building just to see you doesn’t seem like such a big deal. Does it?
Remember the second day I saw you? You wore that black pants suit I love so much. Made sure I was in the lobby when you went out to lunch. Beautiful. Your blond hair shone like shredded banana peels. Your black suit jacket pretty as a rich man’s limo. When I saw you that day, I knew we were meant to be together.
You still pretended not to see me.
That time you pretended not to hear me, either? Yeah, that was me yelling at you after you crossed the street: “Love your bananas on your limo!” Remember that? That’s what I yelled. You did what you always did, though, pretending not to hear me, not to know me, not to feel the destiny we shared.
But all that’s behind us.
Now we’re together.
Give me a kiss. Your lips are so soft. Like Guinevere’s were. Don’t be jealous. She was during a previous lifetime. They’ve written stories about my affair with her for centuries. Movies. Songs. Books. Plays. I went by the name of Lancelot then. Guinevere was my lover. Maybe you heard of her. She was beautiful, but not like you. You’re better. And history’s going to recognize our love affair as true love. Our story will live forever.
Give me another kiss.
You’re better than Guinevere because you’ll never leave me.
I’ve got a surprise for you. ...