“I’m a bitch, you know that, right?”
“Duly noted” I grinned at her; a little too adoringly.
Most of the time I can’t stand drama, pot-stirrers or other nonsense. I’m a little too earnest, a little too loving, and a little too free with my heart; so my only defense is to keep people who might abuse the privilege at, well, much more than arm’s length. Like, maybe a football field.
She’s the one exception. I love her, one might say worship. One wouldn’t be overstating things.. Maybe because she is who she is, and she doesn’t hide, lie, manipulate or play games. She’s completely comfortable with who and what she is, and she feels no need to pretend otherwise. No fucks given at all about your opinion. Ever.
But she’s fun and brash and has a rapier wit that she wields masterfully without being overtly mean. She walks that oh-so-fine line with precision and skill. She’s drop-dead-gorgeous which doesn’t hurt, and she has a voice like melted chocolate, a laugh like a room full of crystal during a toast, and this delicious accent that makes you wish she’d just keep talking. About anything. Weather, sports, beheadings, you don’t really care, you just don’t want her to stop.
This group is so jam-packed with extraordinary people that I could write a hundred love letters before ever feeling the need to write a “Dear John”, but when you walk into a room and she’s there, you know things just got magnitudes better.
There is no crappy week that can overpower her many charms.
