She.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story of a man writing to himself. About a woman he knows he will never have. But maybe he will? (:

I hope this is good.

Submitted: November 05, 2018

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Submitted: November 05, 2018

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She is wild, She is free. She is everything I want her to be. She is gentle, but fierce at the same time. I only ever if I can make her mine.

Maybe not. But. Maybe, just maybe yes? I may not be what the others are... Being unnaturally optimistic I tell myself... Who is to know? She may just have been looking for me. Someone like me? Or better yet. Me.

I do not intend to tame her. She can't be. I only wish she becomes better and better. Just like wine becomes great with time.

Her heart as deep as the ocean, if not deeper I only imagine what lies there. Sorrow? Secrets? Desires? Something great or something malicious? I am again unnaturally optimistic and say... I believe she is nothing less than the best and I... Will be there for her. Comfort her. Support her. Wish and pray that she be happy. Always trying to listen.

I know myself, which is why I tell you this. I may not be rich... Nor charming. I may not be very current with the term "modern" But in my own old school and unnaturally optimistic way, I am good. Maybe even great but I'd like to stick with good. Just to not be too cocky. Either way... I would be hers and hers alone.

She may be wild. She may be free. But she has never met someone like me. But if she has, she may already have had enough. And I would be tucked (with an "f")


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