I Love My Boss

No, like, I really do.

It's quite sad, the fact that I've yet again fallen down the rabbit hole of hopeless love.

First came Elizabeth, when I was a confused teenager. Hopeless because I am (to this day) the  l a s t  boy she will ever go on a romantic date with.

Then came a brigade of straight dudes (maybe 3? 4? 5?). I don't believe I truly liked them, though. I think I was just sheltered, and picked the best from the sad bunch around me.

Then came actual gay dudes (2? 3?). Yet, I was too shy. And scared. Not ready for love! Completely complacent with sitting in the side lines, aggressively carving the quarterback's name into my diary. It's a good thing this fool shot me down, though. Thank God you blew it. Thank God I dodged a bullet.

And now comes the next chapter in my hopeless love: my boss.

MY BOSS. Oh for the love of love, why am I taking fancy in my BOSS?

I initially thought it to be a phase, for I am a notorious emotional sponge (oh ho, just find me after walking out of any movie). But, no. With every unemotional, professional encounter at work, my googly eyes only get googlier. Now, nearly two weeks later, even my legs get googly. Like he sees me and I'm ready to melt straight into my Converse boots. A warm, pink pool of Bashful, spreading all over the store's entryway.

Sigh... oh boss... why must you be old? And my boss?

, Henry

PS. Should I stop cutting off entries and making you click to read the whole thing?