Dear Bombay Girl,
No one knows what could of, or should have been, they just know where they are now. Some say it's fate, but I think fate is too imposed. Destiny could be more like it, but still too predictable. What happened on thee 9the of June was something far more perfected than thee above.
I'm nostalgic to thee point of inventing time travel. I wish I could have offered a conversation, and maybe you wish thee same. Standing by resale products thinking of what to copy, as I do thee same, thinking of what I should say; or if I even should say anything. Maybe I am just crazy for believing in feelings at first glance. At first sight I saw thee future, not fireworks. And this was just my eyes, my body wasn't even in play yet; and unfortunately never was.
Your hair was as wild as nature, but like a river, it knew where to go. Your face almost symmetrical to thee exact definition; if I recall thee facts right. The Bombay sweater that you wore fitted slenderly, with jeans I hope I see no one else wear. Your body wasn't something a sculpture could carve or an artist could draw ; but what a painter would want to mimic, because that is thee closest thing he can get to statuesque.
I wouldn't say stalked because we happened to both be in thee same place. The same place withe thee same idea. Great minds think alike? I don't know how your mind works, but I imagine it to be far more empirical. Logic I feel you don't second guess, but I don't know thee meaning.
Your words were saved for thee exchange of currency, while mine were boggled behind my lobe. I am a cheesy romantic withe helpless words; obsessing over an experience that was surely one sided. So here I am wasting my sleepless night writing about thee one encounter/experience I have ever had withe you, and probably ever will, while you sleep restless at night naive.
So thank you for being my muse for this one, Bombay Girl, and I hope you live as happy of a life as I did that day. Energy will never feel thee same, nor will any drug. I wrote this as a letter to you, knowing you will never read it. Surely I hope you get a heavenly dream some night that someone out there is caring deeply for you. Those dreams of hope will be sent from me. But like dreams, I will soon forget. So I put my thoughts on paper today because come tomorrow I have to finish my novelette to Radical Girl.
Sincerely, Fickle Boy