Monday, January 16, 2012


The first night I met him was intoxicating.
The full moon was out, positioned smack in the middle of a spread of stars across Nature's canvas.
The wind was breezy enough to give us a placebo effect of hanging out by the beach, but not so much that we were shivering.
A movie setting couldn't have been set better.
Like I said, it was intoxicating - and we, we were intoxicated.

He bore too much resemblance to a Spanish David Beckham that i dismissed him on auto-pilot initially.
I fell for the biggest misconception of them all - such a pretty face couldn't possibly be fronting an equally pretty mind.
By the time he was finishing off my sentences, I had to admit to myself that I've committed the most common sin of all - I judged a bloke entirely by his floppy brown hair and his surfer's physique.

Getting high on life, I did not want the night to end.
We were playing guitar by a lake that was speckled with reflections of pretty lights, our taste buds consistently savoring munchies.
The night did not end. It went on, and on, and on.
Through the crack of dawn, through the chirping birds and the trees with 7 shades of green.
Through breakfast, through morning classes.
The night just went on. As did the conversation.

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