When our eyes catch like pinky-swears as you reach over to tuck my hair behind my ear all I can think of is you rolling up your sleeves to wash dishes and it makes me blush to my toes.
I can't blush just a little bit--it's all or nothing with this face. I wish that I had a darker (less freckled) complexion so that people wouldn't be able to see when I turn as red as the tomatoes on my sandwich.
So anyway, what I've done is I've buried a bottle of smiles. Smiles don't go bad, and sometime after one or both of us have gotten bored and wandered away they'll be found, by someone with a spade and a sour disposition. It's not that they'll remember, because they weren't here, but they'll know. And that will be the important part.
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