I am giving up on the illusion of true romance, and am resigning to my heartfelt belief that there is only the foul stench of meat gone bad where there should be love. The scent has a sickly sweet smell, but the overbearing repugnant vapor outweighs the later, leaving me salivating for more, while wrenching bile from the depths of my soul. I give up.
Good luck Amber....Chastity...whatever.
Good luck Amber....Chastity...whatever.
Seriously, the giving up stage is a bleak but sometimes necessary one. I've found in the romantic realm the rhythym of things is such that you sometimes have to wait until you truly give up for good things to happen again. And hey, you have a 66 T-Bird. I'm totally jealous of that.