Note to Self:

Note to Self

Self;
Stop. reading. romantic. novels. None of that shit actually happens. They don't actually reach for your face, and linger kisses upon your lips until you can't hear anything but the sound of your pulse. The wind doesn't actually caress your hair so that it blows enticingley around the angles of your face. Someone's hands won't actually trail sensuously up and down the curves of your masculine form (is you had any), creating friction and heat under the skin. Looks are not actually electrifying and exciting. You don't actually melt into someone's arms when they whisper sweet words into your ear and hold you tightly in their grasp.
Sincerely
-Self

Rebuttal Note to Self

My dearest Self,
Fuck you. Let me dream.
Romance and sensuality are not dead, they're just waiting to be pushed against a wall and ravaged.
Adoringly,
-Self
P.S. I do TOO have a masculine form jackass.