His name is B. Whatever B stands for; you might not be far from wrong.
B is a gentleman. B has got my attention to the extent of me blogging about him. Let’s see how this goes.
Just so you know, he’s unknown till you get to know.
He’s the perfect gentleman, conceivably too perfect in my eyes. He walks ahead to open the door, takes the heavy load from my hands… off my shoulders, offers his coat when I’m cold – he’s actually offered me his coat one night during the Harmattan, in church /face drops in palm, covering smiles/
He loves the Lord! O What a blessing! How that alone attracts me so strongly, I cannot answer.
Dark, Ghanaian, gentle, cool, well nurtured… He loves the Red Devils too. Hah!
Okay, enough goodies about B.
His dry jokes are ultimately dry! So dry they can’t cause a tear even when you’re blinking in an ultimately dry room. I love dry jokes but let them tickle rather than make me sigh… you get it, don’t you? [smh]
Cutest thing; he’ll apologize after such jokes and go like ‘I messed up again, didn’t I?’ Hah! Yeah B, you did.
True, unlike poles attract. He’s so nice and sensitive, and certain times, I may not tick to the things that make him tick. It saddens me sometimes but I realized I fall short in that phase of my live, and I’m learning. I’m learning to care and actually show how much I care about the details.
As I write, this very moment, he let loose of a dry joke a few minutes back and our online chat has been brought to a standstill… at least until we both feel the awkwardness has overstayed its welcome.
Perhaps we’ll talk again or he’ll fall asleep before wishing me good night, but before that, let me just be sure to inscribe this in my Lavender Diary.