Would you still love me if I wasn't a romantic man? If I had no idea what men do for women, when flowers feel too personal and my heart feels like it's remained in an empty cavity for so long it rotted all on its own. I felt like God's rays would never reach me, and now that they had, I've received the warmth in your gaze, any other man would had turned you down. You broken, ruined thing..., and every man called me a fag for being with him against my will. You held me like a gentle thing, and when my body felt how deep my love went for you, I never thought I'd be good for any woman.. oh, my Girlfriend. Who looks at me like a man worth her time, when I'd be at her knees groveling for her respect any other time. I am a pathetic man. Rivaled only by who hurts me. And you, you stand there like I am something grand. And your friends brother told me I am on the asexual spectrum, reserved for those who feel such as I. I am not a romantic man, but I'd go against what I am comfortable and capable of for you, cupid speared me between the ribs and I cannot take the arrowhead out, and he must've aimed for the lung because I cannot breathe when I am around you. You look at me like I am a man worth your time. I do not understand it. I keep waiting for you to see what everyone else saw, and you never do. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for you to hurt me. And I suppose in a way, you are too. We're both ruined broken things, and maybe that's what makes us so .. compatible. When I hold you I feel a strong woman, much more smart than I ever could be at reading between lines. You would react faster. But you wouldn't have to with me, I would never bring you harm. You hold me as though I am something fragile. Nobody has ever mistaken me for fragile before. Other than in the head. Thank you, I guess. My flowers may be wilting, but I gave them to you because they reminded me of us. Because even though they aren't perfect or smell that good, rotting flowers make the prettiest colors to me. The deep reds, maroon and almost velvet shine to them make me inspired to be who I am. At least in roses. ——I love roses. I love you, and I hope this letter makes since in it's jumbled rambled way, Mikhail Rusovych Larventuisauch. We deserve sunshine, keep your eyes on me.
Misha, my Bi-sexual Demiromantic sad eyed Russian, you deserve sunshine, Corvid get your man. 🫂❤️🩹