Milkshake

i’m not intim­i­dat­ed by you.”
“i guess that’s a good thing…”
“i’m gonna scale this wall of yours. i’ll kill you with kind­ness until you think i am the greast­est per­son (all the while know­ing i’m not) on earth and your ‘wall’ crum­bles and you let me see the beau­ti­ful per­son inside. then i’ll laugh mani­a­cal­ly because my plot will have suc­ceed­ed.”
“good luck. let’s go get a milk­shake.”

she doesn’t think i can do it. she doesn’t real­ize how deter­mined i can get. that’s ok, we’re still get­ting to know each oth­er. it reminds me of a chess game, but this is more impor­tant than any game. i’ll be the seed of ivy that tears apart a wall with the slow strength of earth. i’ll be the grip­ping deter­mi­na­tion of frost and thaw, stretch­ing the foun­da­tions with the smooth pow­er of water. i’ll be the sub­tle force of sum­mer breeze, wear­ing away with the patience of air. i’ll be the burn­ing heat of a saha­ran after­noon, bak­ing through every­thing with the pas­sion of fire. one way or anoth­er i am going to find out who she is. and before you ask, YES it is that impor­tant to me.