Shall we, darling? No, no, don't label me a romantic just yet just because I used terms of endearment now and then. Hardly. So, shall we, darling, take a walk and have a little talk while we walk and hold hands under the waning moon? Maybe yes. Maybe next time. What do you have in mind? Write a song? Look at the stars like an over aged cherub or just write me idiot love songs and not blush when you sing to me. It's all right because I don't even think you would do any one of those romantic things or just plain lazy to even think - you'd rather sleep while watching some nothingness on the television.
You prefer to be a humanoid with celluloid features; a motion picture, moving but unfeeling. Don't be mad at me now. I didn't think it rude at all because I know you know that you can pretend to be sleepy - or dead sometimes - but you can't pretend to be romantic because it would only make you look like some yuppie who has no taste and too little imagination because they mostly speak in a phony accent.
How about singing me the songs you have written? Don't be difficult darling. No, I am not being difficult either, if not I wouldn't have penned this letter just for you.
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