How can I adequately convey my ardor for you short of killing scores of innocent people in a ritualistic blood-sacrifice...?
Yet there is a distinct sweetness in your visage.
Your utter prettiness is almost cartoonish. A caricature of a gorgeous girl. As if some artist deftly sketched some graphite lines on a page to compose something improbably beautiful. Impossibly beautiful. Laughably beautiful. Beauty to the point of absurdity.
Like some kind of sick joke...
The scar enhances your perfect 10ness, Padma. Under hot lights, it glistens. It draws the eye, hinting at some secret, unknowable narrative.
In fact, I'll bet if your arms and legs were completely cut off—and I kept you safe in a box—you'd still be a perfect 10...!
Wouldn't you, Padma...?
Oh, you would.
And I would worship at your limbless altar as if you were the Patron Saint of Super Models. A dark, sexy, limbless Patron Saint of Super Models.
To be honest, I mostly know you from internet pictures. And yet, I still feel like we have a strong bond that transcends Google Image searches.
My heart is a cold and empty chamber; it is a poor gift.
So... I give you this blog. That I will do a sorry job of updating with any regularity.
Not out of apathy... but out of heartache.....