[FONT=q_serif]I have a super wild imagination and exploring my own inner world of whimsical make-believe is certainly one of my favorite pastimes and is what furnishes the fuel for my creative writing of outlandish fiction. But if I’m talking about what I fantasize about as in my own imaginary picture of something I deeply desire from the bottom of my heart that feels so inexorably out of reach, it’s actually quite simple and unoriginal. Truth be told, it’s really the only thing I fantasize about in that sense and it’s essentially the same kind of fantasy that has inebriated my thoughts in many a daydream since my first serious crush Jody Porter in the third grade. Just that old-fashioned, sappy romantic form of fancy involving true love between me and that special gal who gives me butterflies, whose eyes make me swoon spellbound and whose smile makes me feel all giddy, whose very presence transforms the atmosphere surrounding her, whose unique beauty has a power over me, the power that just melts the heart and ignites its richest desires with fiery fervor.[/FONT]
[FONT=q_serif]I fantasize about the thought of being loved by some imaginary, highly improbable special woman. She’s a very rare type of special someone, someone who would stand out to me right away with a magnetic power of this unique attraction that is impossible for me to resist. An exceptional kind of attraction that galvanizes my feelings and pierces my instrinsic soft spot on a level that very few can ever do. The kind of attraction that sparks the butterflies, induces fear and trembling, excitement, wonder, and boyish twitterpation all at once. She is cute, quirky, nerdy, sweet and always brunette. She’s that one whom I wish upon every shooting star is somewhere out there, somewhere fixed into the path of my destiny— but she doesn’t really exist. The fantastical scenario of her loving me, holding my hand, kissing me, or sharing a sunset with me on the beach sends my astral soul soaring with the angels. For a moment the whole universe feels perfected in magical rapture. To bask in the electric radiance of her eyes staring back at me is a taste of heaven, something otherworldly, sublime, and beautiful beyond the artistry of the most poetic language.[/FONT]
[FONT=q_serif]Yes I know, it’s all silly nonsense that should have gone out with the third grade, or at least high school. But it didn’t. I’ve never had any firsthand encounter with “true mutual love” in all its glorious ecstasy and hellish heartache (only unrequited love with all its hellish heartache) and thus I’ve never had the opportunity to be disillusioned of this boyish, maudlin fantasy. It hasn’t gone away yet and I doubt it ever will. I don’t expect any part of it to materialize in the sublunary sphere of real life. I don’t expect anything like true love or marriage between now and my dying day. Tis the stuff of pure idle fantasy and nothing more. The fantasy of a third grader boy, the fantasy of a thirty-three year old man, the fantasy of a childish, starry-eyed hopeless romantic with an overactive imagination and a regrettably tender heart who still hasn’t learned how to stop daydreaming.[/FONT]
[FONT=q_serif]I fantasize about the thought of being loved by some imaginary, highly improbable special woman. She’s a very rare type of special someone, someone who would stand out to me right away with a magnetic power of this unique attraction that is impossible for me to resist. An exceptional kind of attraction that galvanizes my feelings and pierces my instrinsic soft spot on a level that very few can ever do. The kind of attraction that sparks the butterflies, induces fear and trembling, excitement, wonder, and boyish twitterpation all at once. She is cute, quirky, nerdy, sweet and always brunette. She’s that one whom I wish upon every shooting star is somewhere out there, somewhere fixed into the path of my destiny— but she doesn’t really exist. The fantastical scenario of her loving me, holding my hand, kissing me, or sharing a sunset with me on the beach sends my astral soul soaring with the angels. For a moment the whole universe feels perfected in magical rapture. To bask in the electric radiance of her eyes staring back at me is a taste of heaven, something otherworldly, sublime, and beautiful beyond the artistry of the most poetic language.[/FONT]
[FONT=q_serif]Yes I know, it’s all silly nonsense that should have gone out with the third grade, or at least high school. But it didn’t. I’ve never had any firsthand encounter with “true mutual love” in all its glorious ecstasy and hellish heartache (only unrequited love with all its hellish heartache) and thus I’ve never had the opportunity to be disillusioned of this boyish, maudlin fantasy. It hasn’t gone away yet and I doubt it ever will. I don’t expect any part of it to materialize in the sublunary sphere of real life. I don’t expect anything like true love or marriage between now and my dying day. Tis the stuff of pure idle fantasy and nothing more. The fantasy of a third grader boy, the fantasy of a thirty-three year old man, the fantasy of a childish, starry-eyed hopeless romantic with an overactive imagination and a regrettably tender heart who still hasn’t learned how to stop daydreaming.[/FONT]
LOL
