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Ten Ways To Say

We will walk through the Cherry blossoms in Japan, hand in hand, meandering through the falling petals.  Our winding path will weave through the countryside  with no goal in sight.  We will stop in front of a particularly beautiful tree, whose branches are just beginning to look naked. I will look at you, brush a stray blossom from your hair...and whisper            Aishiteru                .                                                                                                       .                                                                                                      .   .                                                                                                            .                                                                                                                .                                                                                               We trek the Arctic circle and witness                       the absolute beauty of the Aurora Borealis.                          We're be bundled tightly in our parkas,                       but we are still be able to feel eachother's                       warmth.  We laugh as we throw snowballs.                       We lie in the snow and make angels.                                                 Well...they'll start out as angels, but in the                                          end, they'll just look like snow that two people                                     have just rolled around in.                                                                                                                                                                 We can't help it.  As we embrace,                                                                            I whisper                                                      Negligevapse                                                                                           .                                                                                                     .                                                                                                   .                                                                                                  .                                                                                                   .                                                                                                .                                                                                              .                                                                                              .                                                                                                                                                                     We stroll the beaches of Hawaii, refreshing ocean                         breezes cool us.  I picked you a flower,          which you now wear in your hair.  Your cinnamon                        brown skin offsets your beautiful white smile.                               We run through the breaking waves, our feet                                  leaving ephemeral indentations that are as                                     fleeting as our cares.  We fall over into                                              the surf and let the ocean wash over us.                                                                                                                                                          I kiss your nose and tell you                                                                      Aloha wau ia oi                                                                                           .                                                                                                       .                     In China, we race eachother along                                         .              .   the Great Wall to see who can get                                          .          .    to the end first.  We both end up                                               .   .       dragging eachother across the                                                               finish line...which happens to be                                                         a few hundred feet away.                                                          The locals shake their                                                              heads disaprovingly, as we stifle                                                    a giggle.  I lean in and remind you                                                                                                                                                                                 Wo ai ni..                                                                                  .  .                      .                                                                       .       .                     .                                                                  .            .                   .                                                                .               .                 .                                                                .                  .   .   .   .  .                                                              .                                                                   In Soviet Russia, girl kiss you                                               and I gladly let her, for she                                                       and I have had one too many shots                                                  of vodka.  Our faces are rosy and                                                       we lean into each other as our feet                                                    make hard noises on the cobblestone                                                streets.  Saint Basil's Cathedral                                                         looms over us, as our lips dance                                                       a familiar dance.                                                                                                                                                                                        Ya tebya liubliu                                                                                    .                                                                                                  .                                                             .  .  .  .                          .                                                            .             .                      .                                                            .                .                   .                                                             .                    .  .  .  .  .  .                                                             .                                                                                               We gaze at the Taj Mahal, a building                                               built for a man's true love. I would                                                   build you a city.  we take in the                                                             mighty majesty of Everest.  I tell                                                       you I'd climb it for you.  You tell                                                            me to stop being silly, and say you'd get bored waiting for me. I give you a back rub instead.                                               Hum Tumhe Pyar Karte hae  . .          .                                      We travel the dutch  countryside            .                                    and kick off our wooden shoes to               .     .                           watch the tulips blooming.                        .                 .     I dedicate an entire field to you.                           .         .         You blush.                               .   .         we fall asleep in front of a windmill,                                           watching the shapes of the clouds pass                                               over us. I whisper in your ear                                                                                                                                                                                               Ik hou van jou                                                                           .                                                                                                  .                                                                                                  .                                                                                                  .                                                                                                  .                                                                                                  .                                                                            .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .                                                 France has never been as beautiful as                                                      it is now that you're here.  We skirt                                                       the cities and explore the countryside,                                                 Endless fields and clear skies bring                                                        out our inner children, and spend the day     romping and rolling until our clothes                                              are stained and our muscles ache.  I                                                         lay beside you, panting.  In between                                              breaths, I manage to impart                                                                                                                                                                                       Je t'aime                                                                                                     .                                                                                                             .                                                                                                               .                                                                                                               .                                                                                                               .  .  .    .    .       .          .                                                                                                                                                                                                         We explore Roman ruins and concoct                                              our own love story had we been born                                             in the Ancient city.  I would have                                                been a mighty General, who saved                                              you from a terrible dicator.  You                                                    tell me to stop quoting Gladiator.                                               We share a kiss under the shadow                                                   of the colosseum.  I brush your                                                 hair from your face...                                                                                                                                                                                                              Ti Amo                                                                                                              .                                                                                                                                                                                                                    .                                                                                                                                                                                                                   .                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             .                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             .                                                                                                                                                                                         You smile and reply                                                                                                                                                                                                           I love you, too
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Written by
j-a-doetsch
40 / M / American
Published
Feb 3, 2012
Lines·Words
287·673
Notes

Feeling hopelessly romantic today.

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