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December 2015

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I'm sitting here, doing something I have never done: Writing a love letter. No, it's not because absolutely stark mad, but this is exceptionally beside my nature. I think it may have something to do with you. You see, firstly, I was going to get you a card. It had a squerrel on it, a very cute squirrel. The squirrel was holding a nut, and it said, "I must be a squirrel, because you're a nut, and I like you a lot". But I left it at home. Now, I'm thinking it wasn't the right card. It didn't really say what it should have.

It should have said that I still feel honored to be in your presence every moment I'm beside you, and most of the moments I'm not. It should have said that I never thought I'd find someone as weird in bed as I am, but who is sometimes too tired to be kinky and defaults to hopelessly romantic and mind-blowingly sexy. It should have said that you make me feel like all the fairy tales have something to them, that you might be some kind of lord and I might be some kind of lady and we can live happily ever after as long as we interject a little common sense every once in a while. It should have said that once I find someone as compassionate, honorable, smart, sharp, trustworthy, sexy and supportive as you, I should do everything I can to keep you around, cuz you're a keeper and the male population's best kept seecret.

You're my best kept secret. You're one in a million baby..a gazillion...and only because I can't think of a bigger number. You make every kind of sense to me, my body, my mind and my spirit. I want to see what you look like when you're forty, fifty, 64. I want to make you laugh all the time so your sexy crow's feet take over your whole face.
You're out of the shower, so there's no time to spell check this thing.

I love you,
Sockmonkey <3

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