I could write a love story of epic proportions. There could be beaches and sunsets and lines of seashells right out of a Nicholas Sparks novel. There could be monologues and build ups with explosive climaxes.
There could be a wild misunderstanding and some screaming. A few jokes, some betrayal, and even an airport chase scene.
I could write about beautiful people with beautiful proportions. Vices that are only ever endearing and misunderstood bad boys who only ever wanted a second chance. I could use allegories and alliterations and symbolism and intertwine them with adjectives to make a thesaurus proud.
It might end with some amazing revelation and passionate embraces. Kisses so perfectly choreographed that it makes you wonder how the trueness of their love was ever doubted.
No matter how it ended, where they went, what they said. Who the characters were or what they did.
No matter what I wrote, it would still be me and you. Sitting three feet away from each other on the couch, an arms length that stretches longer than either of us can reach.
