You once let me stroke your thigh through your shorts and even if it was pretend I poured tons and tons of language about how all I want is to adore you into your cells. It did nothing as always, but I got a little stolen something for that night’s loneliness.

I wish every beautiful woman I see would let me hang out with her constantly until she starts repeating herself and seems boring. Then I wouldn’t have to feel sad about her not being mine. That would be like one hell of a service.

Picture everyone you’ve ever known in the same auditorium. If we could make them all make eye contact it would be totally disgusting. The strongest males would want to look at the most beautiful women with the best bodies. Some would ride their stares like war gods while others would simply let go.

Peter Schwartz