His eyes are like these big dark gorgeous pools of seduction. Sometimes I just stare at them, mesmerized.
He notices and gets uncomfortable.
“Oh, nothing. I was just, uh, you have something in your eye.”
Yes. The ability to make me fall madly in love with you.
“Yea I think it’s like an eyelash or something.”
He rubs them in an effort to get it out.
Okay, so he’s not my ideal match. He’s into sports and going to the beach. I’m a homebody who likes art. We constantly run out of things to talk about, and usually resort to topics such as listing everything we did that day and discussing at length what we had for dinner.
“It was a sandwich.”
“What was in the sandwich?”
“Yea, I was out of jelly.”
But I mean, how important is compatibility really? I like being with him. I like the way he makes me feel and the cute things he says. He likes that we’re so different; he thinks it will cause us to improve one another, and I suppose he’s right. I’ve started eating healthier and going to the gym. He’s started reading more.
And if we ever need something to talk about I can just start putting more things in my sandwiches.