For the security guard with the glasses who said no, write it now because there is no later.

She was the girl I used to know and the girl I used to be and what did I have to say to that? She baked cookies and gave so freely of her love that I was left alone in the room, disarmed. Who was she? Chocolate brown hair, blue eyes, shocking amount of verisimilitude. Is that the right word? She has attitude and an invigoration to pass on. It is contageous, like her smile. Who is she? Sadly, I either didn't hear her name right the first time or it's just me being bad with names. I do not know. It is because I do not know her name that it feels safe to know her in this way. I wonder what she would look like dressed up as a disco ball, throwing her light in every direction, mirror-sending passion to the passersby like a microwave tower... I wonder also what her hair feels like and this is when I slap my imaginary hand, roll my eyes and tell myself that I'd better make love with my husband when I get home. I still have my boundaries and this confuses me because so shaken before, my foundations have crumbled. This one is different. This one comes with more than the promise of a pretty smile. How about a house and trees to look after and eventually spawn? I think that sounds pretty darn good. It sounds like a sigh at the end of a long day, a sigh of contentment, sinking into that which is beautifully, blissfully mine. Love.