MR. READ

What can I say? Words don't do justice to the two weeks I've spent with him.
I've never had company who I could sit with and listen to endlessly. I could spend hours engulfed and engaged in the stories he shares, in the life which he's so willingly imparted to me through conversation. I find myself wishing I could engage him the way he intrigues me. We find difficulty in recognizing our own positive qualities, yet I find endless things in him I can admire and respect and enjoy. And he, for whatever reason, sees something in me that allows him to be comfortable with my presence and my undeniably deviated personality.
Since I've spent time with Michael, I sing more often. I find myself wrapped up in thought, not of the most trivial nature, but of who and what I need to expect of myself as an individual. I am attracted to him, I am compelled by him, and, for the moment, I am so unbelievably comfortable whenever he's around me. I want more of him, more of the person he makes me feel like.
I'm corny, stupid, floating, cheesy, gawky, shy, and it's all because of him.
All his fault.