You don't ask me for money or s-e-x. (And when you do have to assuage that erotic itch with some hard-chargin' scratchin', you don't bring him around or hurt my writer's-sensitive feelings by giving me the
We fulfill each other's hugs and dinner companion and movie-snugglin' quotients without any pretense.
You trust me with your emotional vulnerabilities and secrets which boundaries I respect, even knowing that sharing life's same jostling roller coaster car will naturally cause some bruising in the relatively few good spins I have left.
You don't mind that I don't like beer and do mind that you can't cook worth shit because it propels me to pick up the check, alot, when we dine out, whether it's Burger King or Benihana.
Hey, this is pretty okay until the eventual virus of "more" or the "L-word" infects one of us, the terminal outcome for which there is no vaccine, so... for now, thanks :x
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