she

There are only so many reasons to do anything. Correction, there is only ever one reason to do anything. Desire. Everything after that is nothing more than purest moonshine. The plethora of excuses, explanations, rationales and whatnot that mankind has, throughout civilization, employed to mask this, our base motivation, is a testament to nothing more than our equal loves of fantasy and social acceptance. Since Adam, juice stains on his lips and sin in his belly, attempted to deceive the Almighty, Man has schemed to hide his desire. Often the delicacy of the cover up rivals even the intensity of the initial compulsion, but rest assured, at the foundation of any conscious action are the co joined twin offspring of Desire. I Want and I Need. Insatiable, omnivorous and never resting they devour, demand and dictate.

I say all that because I need to you to know that I am no angel. My writing for you today is by no means some act of altruistic benevolence. Not in the purist sense at least which, if the above is to be believed, never truly happens anyway.

Every good story deserves a beginning and most good story tellers will admit that that is rarely where any good story actually starts. With that in mind I will attempt to be as forthright with you as possible and cut straight to the wick.

I love her.