You love me. You really, really love me. I know this for sure because you have stuck by my flimsy side for as long as I could remember. I might not show this amorous side of me very often, but I want you to rest assured that I am enormously satisfied by your kind of loving. Dearest great style, do allow me to indulge you.
You and I have been dancing since before the music began. I know this because there is just no way in hell I could have swayed this way… solo. I chose you as much as you did me. You were very present on that fateful day I gathered up the pluck to stand before the rest of the world and parade our one-of-a-kind affair –some 14 festive seasons ago. You chose to be patient with me throughout my asinine moon-eyed years, all the way until I had to learn how to tactfully reel in fads into our many homes (wardrobes) and with such a rare skill, morph into something heralded by a few.
Oh my dearly beloved, I cannot get over your cute jealous streak, like all those times you fist formed your stunning palms each time a faux-pas winked in our direction. Quick question though, my love: how do you manage to know just how to serve me, each time I fling my hands in the air and want to give it all up? How is it that you are so at ease with taking the second-hand compliments, when I am only just one part of our winning team? Whatever the reason, I love for sticking with me.
This note is just of so many mire you will find in sleeves when I proudly wear the clothes you always pick up for me.
Thank you for EVERYTHING thus far!
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