There are people on this earth who are voluntarily bland, or even worse - blissfully unaware of their undisputed mediocrity. And then there's him, a wide-eyed vision of love who walks as if he is carefully lead by angels. If I ever was to obtain the seemingly inconceivable privilege of calling him mine, I'd have the world in my hands, an irreplaceable efflorescence at my very fingertips. I dream of what "I love you" might sound like coming from his sweet lips and how flawlessly he would speak my name. I wonder if he understands the way in which his essence fills a room and why I'd give anything to perpetually melt in his gentle embrace. I've been aching for the chance to tell him that his smile looks the way God feels and how I'm convinced that heaven is simply his presence; I'd climb all seven levels of hell just to crawl into his arms.