Dear Super Hot Homeless Guy I Saw On The Street This One Time
I miss you so, so much. My soul aches when I think of what could have been. Had I taken the time to speak to you instead of staring at you in awe, mesmerized by your incomparable beauty, I could have offered you a bath. Perhaps we could have gone into the magic shop and asked the super hot guy who works there if we could use his bathroom for a moment with pure altruistic intentions, and while I ran the flaky toilet paper over your dirty face, I’d have seen that not only was I uncovering the extent of your physical beauty, but your inner beauty as well.
We could have walked down to the coffee shop and shared a cup of hot chocolate while you regaled me with your homeless adventures, and as you were telling me of your tragic past, my nose would dip into a bit of whipped cream that I wouldn’t notice because of my enraptured state. And with a sweet smirk, you would pause your tale to wipe it away. I would grab your hand quickly, an instinctive response I have when things come at my face (this is thanks to my borderline autism, which you would surely understand), we would both feel lightening bolts, hear bells, and see stars. I would look down at your hands, your beautiful hands that I had made clean, and I would know without a doubt that I had found my little slice of forever.
I’m so sorry that I cut our destiny short because me and my girl were on our way to the mall and you looked kind of shady.
With my eternal love and sincerest regret,
Emily
