Fangirling

I have a confession to make … I’m a fangirl.

I know this may come as a shock so I understand if you need a minute to let it sink in. I don’t flag silver lame on the left, and consent is important to me, so it’s understandable that you may not even realise the depths of my squeeeeee.

Thank you, by the way, for the implied consent to social voyeurism of accepting my social media friend request. Thank you even more for returning the voyeuristic favour of looking over my past posts and pics and liking/loving things. My giddiness knows no bounds. I try to remain calm, cool, and collected but inside I’m bouncing up and down with barely contained delight.

You’re amazing. Externals aren’t really important to me and you’re really sexy on the inside. Don’t get me wrong, I can appreciate physical attractiveness (and you’ve got it – in spades). I’m just more excited by internal hotness. Double entendre absolutely intended.

I can’t wait to know more. Every time we meet you invite me into closer proximity. I’m thrilled to call you friend, lover, co-conspirator. Even as I’m approaching the inner circle, I’m filled with wonder and gratitude that I have been fortunate enough to glimpse the beauty of your soul. It’s exhilarating.

Enamored

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