I remember that I was irrevocably and hopelessly in love with him. Everything about him drew my eyes like magnets. The way his teeth shun like gleaming white satin pearls, his big sleepy eyes perfectly brown framed by a fence of thick black eyelashes, and how could I forget his icy pale skin and how it glowed even through the wintry fog of a late December day. His tall walk was calm and collected, never too fast nor too slow, but perfect enough to catch his fresh scent that never once seemed to match it's season.
I enjoyed his smiles, his frowns, and his laughs, but never once did I know the owner of that sweet, sweet laugh.

I remember that day, that silly, silly day, when the sky cried gloom yet his eyes told me otherwise. They were soft and sparked with joy and often looked my way as his breath clouded white with every word he said. Oh how I wished I could be in distance of that powdery air, enough to see his many strands of manhood spread amongst his smooth cool skin.

I'd walk his way. The steps he would take and the noise he would make, it'd  electrify the ground and would ring in my ears like Sundays choir.

Sometimes I'd sit and think of ways to approach him without letting myself interfere. Then the day came where he spoke his deep velvety voice, letting every word drip enchantingly from his sweet, sweet mouth.  And like a blossoming flower, developing its sundry colors, so did we, even through the deathly frost of the Sagittarius rein.
I was me and he was him, and us?
Well, we were just.