I dream of hundreds of ways in which I might win her heart; almost all of which require some sort of event that will more than likely never happen. In the unlikely event that chance will take pity upon me and the two of us shall be thrust upon fertile soils where love may bloom, I know exactly what I will say. Every word, accent and utterance that comes forth from my lips shall create new bonds between us and I shall transcend this platonic love.
But alas, fate greets me not like an old friend but rather with the manner of a particularly disgruntled parent. I am made to stand upon my own two feet left to my own lackluster wit. Leaning forward, my hand lightly brushes the back of her arm. To extinguish the curiosity that has risen upon her face I simply smile and ask for a ballpoint pen.
I now feel as if I have jumped off the side of a very tall bridge.
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