Of course there are other fish in the sea. It would border on the ridiculous to say or think otherwise. But betwixt knowing and believing is a great gulf fixed. Of course I know there are other fish in the sea, but how can I believe it? It would be rifrickingdiculous.
After so long of thinking about her, writing about her, my every synapse firing in a pattern created by her, how can I even imagine thinking about considering starting to muse over the possibility of pursuing anyone else? She has defined my life. More than that, she has defined my universe.
I know it sounds trite, but every cliche was meant to describe her, somewhen in the deepest reaches of the past. I can't very well ignore such a history of lexicography and literature building up over millennia simply to describe her. She was simply the most —
OooOo! Now will ya look at her! She's a cutie! *whistles*
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