I'm a charmer by nature. I always have been, it's just that for some long periods of time, I tend to turn this charm off and try to fend for myself. Lately, though, it seems as though I need it to get by.
How so? Well, just read this and see if you don't fall in love with me, too.

There are a million things I want to do with my life. I want to fall in love. I want to watch the sun come up in a lover's arms. I want to see the look in his eyes, the look where he can't get enough...
I want to count the stars. I want to fall in love in the moonlight, with the snow falling softly on the ground, in the safeness of a warm house, by a warm fire, listening to romantic oldies. "I only have eyes for you..."

Then he'll look into my eyes, and he'll know what those words mean. He'll hear my voice softly singing along, and try as hard as he might to not, he will fall.

I love the way the stars twinkle in the fall, with the leaves on the ground and a crisp cool breeze blowing through my hair. I love the feeling of a warm hand in mine as we sit around the campfire and just listen to the crickets chirping in the end of the warm days. It's like music, and it's just you and me.

Picture me dancing in your room, listening to oldies, singing into a brush, in jeans and a white tee shirt. You can't help laughing, because "one fine day you're gonna want me for your girl!"

Then later when you're playing Jewel on your acoustic guitar, and I begin to sing along, you'll know what I meant when I said watch out. There's never been a time when they haven't fallen.

Sometimes it's sweet. I call you at your house, just before you fall asleep, just to tell you I love you. I watch movies with your mom, and tell her how much I love her fried chicken. Of course, it's true, her fried chicken is the best. I buy your sister chocolate just because I know she loves it. Your dad and I sit and talk for ages about how much we love Eric Clapton, the Doobie Brothers, and the Allman Brothers. Then we sit in your room, talk about how much we both love Kenny Wayne Shepard, listen to Blue on Black, and then I tell you about my record collection. Yes I really have Led Zeppelin's House of the Holy. Yes I do know all the lyrics to Stairway To Heaven. Yes I do know and love Joan Baez. And Concrete Blonde, more than just Joey. And there we are, amazed by the fact that we have so much in common. And in the faded light of your lamp, you see the look in my eyes, while we're listening to Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here, and before you know it, I kiss you. That's sweet, huh.

Sometimes it's passionate. Sometimes it seems like we make love for hours. Sometimes I show you my poetry, and sometimes you even pretend to enjoy it. I send you letters, and they smell like my perfume. Sometimes we go on picnics, just me, you, your guitar, a bag of sandwiches, and a blanket. We could have fun for hours. And we do. You write me songs, and I write you letters. There's nothing in the world you could do to throw away those letters, when I tell you you make me want to be a better person. When I tell you I could love you forever and never get bored. When I tell you I could kiss every part on your body.

Sometimes I make you blush. But that's okay, I never seem to laugh at you, do I? Only at your jokes, which are pretty cheesy, but I have a good sense of humor. I like dorky jokes, those are the only kinds I know. Sometimes I tease you in front of your friends, but they like it like that. They know who's in control, J/K. I like to wear your shirts, they smell like you. Of course, you could wear my shirts, too, but that's kinda funky... I don't think I'd let you. The only thing I want is to spend time with you. But I won't get mad if you want to chill with your friends, I have friends too! And I would never make you quit smoking, Jesus, I don't care if you smoke! I would never try to change someone to make myself happy, that would only make them miserable. You don't make me wear granny underwear, and that's about as pointless as making you quit smoking.

And don't you love the way I dress? Have you ever met a sexier girl that you can call your own? No one wears more skirts than me on those hot summer days. You love to watch the sweat drop down my brow, and I love the feeling of your hot hand on my leg. Tan bare skin. Hot, huh. We sit in your garage eating popsicles and enjoying the weather. Me sweaty is almost as good as me naked, and you can practically taste me. These hot days are the best, when we're almost melting. You'll remember this til the day you die. But so will I.

You're falling in love, aren't you? You could never imagine me with anyone else, even when you're with someone else. And until the day you die, you'll never meet another girl like me. You'll never meet a girl that makes you cry, and then makes you laugh again. A girl who makes you want to die, but you know you'd die smiling, remembering the days in your car, in your room, in the woods, just the two of us. You might not be the only one, but you'll know there was none like you, either. These moments will never happen again. Not to you, or to me. Don't forget them, because I never will.

Charmed, I'm sure.
Much love,
~Anne