Preoccupied state of mind

Well, it's harmless to write a love letter for a friend, so that he can give it to his girlfriend on their anniversary. Right?
And since I really liked what I wrote, I am sharing it on my blog here. 

I never thought I could be romantic someday. Romance in the literary world does not necessarily mean affection towards the opposite or the same sex in a lovey-dovey manner. It could be about anyone from your mother to your sister and from the girl living next door to your favourite class teacher. So the point here I am making is that love does not necessarily be like Nicholas Sparks writes where the protagonist goes through all sorts of adventures like staring the girl and almost scrutinizing her or sometimes stalking her to know the smallest detail about her life such as what she likes and what she doesn’t just to impress her with the fact that he knows stuff about her more than anyone else she could think of ; which in the end of the day, would sweep her off her feet and make her fall in love with him.
Nicholas Sparks is a good writer. A really good writer I must say. So good that I've never read any of his novels except “The Choice”; but I still like him, contradictory to people who have read everything he has ever written and adore him.  The book is nothing but a really simple story of an extraordinary yet ordinary man who slowly falls in love with his new neighbour. I know the plot is clichéd and we have watched plenty of movies with similar storylines but sometimes I like clichés. I like them because once in a while I like to know what’s coming ahead and to be able to brace myself and face it even if whatever that is coming is not going to be good. Clichés have this tendency of making you believe that ‘it’s going to be good in the end’ and the best part is that they make you wanna be loyal to them.

I will like to come back to the point. See the point here I am making is that I want to write something for this girl I met exactly five months ago. I have been trying to write something but I couldn’t. The title should answer why.
My romance is strictly about this girl and just like the way Nicholas Sparks writes. For starters, like everyone would have recommended me to do is writing about how we met and how things got to the way they are at this moment that I could not suppress my love for her and had to write this down. After all, keeping your feelings to yourself is not an area a clinical psychologist or my psychology professor will advise me to venture in. See! I have a reason now!
Sorry! I am again drifting away from the topic because of my preoccupied state of mind for which I would have to blame her. She is so exquisitely beautiful; her smile- a splendour, her eyes - an ocean of hopes and her lips being the ones you’d like on yours, that I can’t stop thinking about her. This is the preoccupied state of mind I am talking about, which, from time to time, basically every five minutes, makes me imagine myself doing nothing but watching her all day when she flaunts her smile and then when she will smile, she'll blush; I bet she will.

The day I asked her out was 31^st December 2014. “Who asks a girl out on 31^st?! You won’t even get to celebrate your month anniversaries every month!”, one of my friends said. Wow. Who would have thought this through? I don't remember why I did it on 31^st! But it just seemed perfect. We were dancing under the cloak of stars with the wind in our hair. My hand was on her waist and her face buried into my chest and I just felt that I had to. She looked so beautiful that night.

She said yes and that’s it. For the next fifteen minutes she couldn't do anything but smile. That night after going home, she called me and complained that her cheeks are hurting because she couldn't stop smiling all the way back. She still can't whenever I say that I love her.

There are many kinds of people in the world that I have been running from. But the girl I am talking about here is unlike all of them. She is simple yet different. She has the same weird fetishes like everyone else’s but she is one person I don’t find weird ‘because she is like everyone else’. Maybe she is like everyone or maybe she isn’t. She is the voiceless whisper I hear before I go to sleep and when I wake up and all other parts of the day. She is the face I see every night in my dreams and when I am singing the song we danced on the other night. I love her.

Our story is very simple and uncomplicated yet unconventional. We don't go out on dates every weekend. Sitting in coffee shops or going for movies is still not something we usually do. We hardly meet for weeks but then when we see each other’s faces after so long (sometimes months), it’s beautiful. You see I do not use this word often – beautiful. More often than not, I say ‘awesome’. It’s for when I have nothing else to say. But the times and people for whom I use ‘beautiful’, I always mean it.

A week ago I had no clue what should I write about her. Trust me, I still don’t. All that I’ve written is not so great because the words above are just my stars that I have tried to fathom into constellations.

“Why can't life, be somewhere between your chin and your bosom? That’s the life I would ask for. Where my hand is around your waist, gripping you, knocking out your fears and my breath is taken away by yours and your eyes look into mine, telling me that the world is still a wonderful place to live and that we don't need to go to the moon to say that we love each other. There, right there, shall we become infinite. And at that moment, I would like to kiss you.’’

There is so much more in my mind that I can’t pen. You'd have to look into her eyes when she reads this.