I will tell you something.
From when I was young. When I was in my brave teens. When my soul was pure and I bled wild poetry. When I wanted more than I understood, and far more than I could define.
When I was discovering that true beauty was both everywhere and yet impossibly rare.
And when I discovered that it was one thing to be able to attract, and yet quite another to attract that which one’s heart desired.
Unexpectedly I was almost spoilt for choice. But I wanted a certain girl. I desired a certain girl. I needed a certain girl. Someone beyond special.
So I dreamt of her.
I invented a girl.
She was beautiful Heart-stoppingly, achingly, eloquently beautiful. She had a body to die for. Elegant, sensual, gorgeous curves, immaculate skin. She was smart, creative and utterly unique.
She entered my consciousness and never left.
She could never be real because she never existed. She was a perfect creature of my own creation.
Yet she is you.
Your eyes, your mouth, your hair, your exquisite shape. Your sharp, bright, hungry intelligence.
You have completely taken my breath away. Left me dazed. Disoriented. Without coherent thought, or plan, or words.
Because you should not be possible. And yet you are real.
It is a truth I should not have told you.
But I have wanted to own you all my life.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photograph stolen from Kayleigh June