The wrong mother

I have a friend who keeps trying to find the reason why we want to fall in love. That's all fine and dandy, but trouble is, he likes to tell me why he thinks we want to fall in love. And then he asks me why I think we want to fall in love.

I tell him I don't know much about that, but I that I know he's making one big mistake after another, and that everything he does with a view to falling in love is akin to a lost lamb trying to ingratiate itself with the wrong mother.

Meeting you, and getting to know you by way of long, long telephone conversations has not added an extra dimension to me or my life. Life's pretty ordinary still. Work is work, sleep is sleep, and telephone conversations are nothing out of the ordinary. Though your sense of logic, pride, propriety and fun baffles me and your combination of self-assuredness and clumsiness charms me, and I could say it's got me, hook, line and sinker and all that, I couldn't say more.

And that sucks.

And although I've been pining for, thinking about, confused about and missing you for so many weeks now, I couldn't say more.

And that sucks.

And it's all because I don't want to say more. And it's all because you're the wrong mother.

And that sucks.

{Also posted on Singapore can Romance itself}


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