Hours into days,
Days into weeks,
I will still be thinking of you.

I will childishly depend on these
days and weeks and months to
blanket that sharp sting I feel
when I think of you.

But to no avail, I'm sure.

I got it bad, and that ain't good.
Why is this happening?
Why do I dream of you?

Am I forever doomed
to ache and long for
a girl who's constant
center-of-attention lifestyle
makes me sick?

I've never felt simultaneous attraction
and revulsion before.

It's making me miserable.
I wouldn't choose this
if I had a choice.

This fever that quickens my pulse
will break soon.

This longing I have to
kiss you and breathe you and
taste the dizzying scent of
your skin will fade away.

And eventually another hurricane
will roar up and introduce herself and
spin me around and around
and around.

And hopefully when she and I are
sitting in a restaurant and I
am staring at a glass of champagne
for what seems an eternity,
and she asks what I am thinking
and I say nothing…

…hopefully that won't be a lie
like it usually is.

Hopefully I won't want to say,

"Havilland's eyes I am thinking.
Havilland's lips I am thinking.
Havilland's hands I am thinking.
Havilland's legs I am thinking."

Havilland Savage I am thinking…

…I love you.

— Lee Plenty, Hav Plenty

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