It's not my imagination.
It's your blonde hair.
It's your pink skin.
It's your eyelashes.
It's your slim build.
It's your one-armed swagger.
It's your Banana Republic clothes.

I keep seeing people who remind me of you.
Co-worker, neighbor, bank teller, stranger...
Probably a dozen in the last two months.

And the more people I see who resemble you, the more over you I get.
Not exactly exotic or special, as I originally had thought.
I must have lived in the suburbs too long.
Your type is everywhere.
That's not my type anymore.

02/01/2008

Posted on 02/01/2008
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