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Why do women make me feel so?

Why do they have such an effect and in


such a short amount of time. The notion of figuring this quandary out in due
course seems logical enough given I am only 545 fortnights or so old (young).
A quixotic fabrication in my mind perhaps, the idea of sending and receiving
influence. Influence so impactful that it can configure itself into memories. I
believe therein lies the hardship when it ends, or ends early, or when it never
really began at all. The latter being particularly pertinent to me as I write this.
The potential to affect and to be effected. The potentional for that poignant
smile and distant gaze at an arbitrary moment in future time wherein you
have occupied a thought in her mind. A positive dose of anamnesis, assuming
you are positive anamnesis. Harder still, the potential to be one half of the
most desireable type of team on earth. An exorbitant comment? Maybe,
maybe not. Some are quick to tell you that it is just another fish, as it were. In
time, maybe. But for me now, she is still very human (and I never even saw
her swim let alone shapeshift).
Preoccupation, the first pro-tip on many a google searches, is insufficient. She
still reigns supreme in the over-crowded terra firma of my thoughts. She still
monopolises my occupations.

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