To the Ginger I Met on Tinder,

I'm sorry I didn't linger
longer in your arms,
but I've known you barely
three weeks and this is crazy,
but kissing you tasted like
ice water, not that it was too
wet cause it wasn't!

I'm doing this all wrong,
let me start again:
You see I don't take chances
on hopeless romances.
But kissing you was electrifying
like shock therapy gone
wonderfully, horribly, mind
numbingly...well. So well that
I lost my mind, temporarily.
I found it, unfortunately.
I found it was very confused.

You started out as a picture
on a screen, all I knew was,
red hair, big eyes, and nice arms.
Even when you were in front of me,
arms wrapped around me,
big beautiful eyes looking
down at me full of life,
even when I could reach out
and touch you, you didn't
feel real...

Do I feel real to you?
Do you wonder how to
make your fantasy feel
like reality?
Do you wonder if you should?
When the photo starts talking
back what do we talk about?

As badly as I want to
break the laws of physics
with you, I know I can't.
Because I don't matter, to you.
Nothing can be created from nothing.
My time and energy is not destroyed
by you it is only transformed into new
understanding of my standards.

Lightening bolts will never be
enough for me, they're too dangerous
too unpredictable, I crave constancy
alongside my intimacy.

So to answer the question
I hope you're asking yourself:
Yes you are kind of an *******,
but no you didn't hurt me.

Regretfully Yours,
The Blonde You Met On Tinder