Right by the park, on the benches, I wanted to talk to you because you seemed weird and funny and smart and definitely beautiful, but then we spoke briefly (and were you looking at my left hand for a wedding ring?) and you turned out to be talented and terribly gracious, and a decent person too, because you wouldn't openly hit on a man who seemed to be with a woman but I wasn't. (deep breath in) And while she's my friend, she was once more than that though it's ancient history so maybe you picked up on that vibe but while we're the best of friends I only know her as that now and it's out of respect for her and some ancient knighthood one of my ancestors probably finagled that I didn't tell you right then and there any one of the following things. Your hair is lovely, your face shows a fine character, you're a damned fine looking and seeming woman and I wanted to get to know you but it was ever so slightly awkward and if you by some chance read this I'll write you long elegiac letters with punctuation and full stops and properly edited thoughts instead of this stream of conscience and consciousness (which is the only way I'll get this out at all because if I start I'll ever overthink and then give up but don't think I'm always this much of a flake because behind the neurosis is an ocean of tenderness for anyone who can look through my rough exterior to my rough interior and move in and set up camp because even though I'm a man I'm a nurturer and you have no idea what I'm capable of if I'm loved and respected because I have so much fucking love to give it kills me sometimes that it's going fallow and to seed so take a chance because who knows we might just hit it off) whew ok that 's done, it's about a third of what was going on inside me when I looked at you I felt like a teenager with a hormone-fuelled crush, looking at you.