He was never one to shy away from finding love.
Many a girl had been twirled around the dance floor to his two-step. He fell in love nightly and with an open heart. He didn't cross boundaries but a girl felt that she had been flirted with, courted and wed all in one night. He knew the words to the songs and whispered them in tiny studded ears.
He knew when to speak softly and when to be center stage. A person couldn't help but fall for his ways, it would be pointless to resist. His back was slapped and a joke shared in countless encounters during an evening. He was a bit of candy wrapped in shiny foil.
You were surprised by the sheer size of his hands. They belonged on someone who was much taller and bigger. And though they had come in handy in many a misplaced playground scuffle, he had grown to be gentle with them.
And still he went home alone each night. It wasn't her fault, the woman with the curly hair and the flowered skirts, it was his time to go.
He is no one, he is every man, he is yet to have a name.
It seems that it was not the end.
He is no one, he is every man, he is yet to have a name. (Click to Tweet)
He was a bit of candy wrapped in shiny foil. (Click to Tweet)
For the rest of The Little Story, read here.
Many a girl had been twirled around the dance floor to his two-step. He fell in love nightly and with an open heart. He didn't cross boundaries but a girl felt that she had been flirted with, courted and wed all in one night. He knew the words to the songs and whispered them in tiny studded ears.
He knew when to speak softly and when to be center stage. A person couldn't help but fall for his ways, it would be pointless to resist. His back was slapped and a joke shared in countless encounters during an evening. He was a bit of candy wrapped in shiny foil.
You were surprised by the sheer size of his hands. They belonged on someone who was much taller and bigger. And though they had come in handy in many a misplaced playground scuffle, he had grown to be gentle with them.
And still he went home alone each night. It wasn't her fault, the woman with the curly hair and the flowered skirts, it was his time to go.
He is no one, he is every man, he is yet to have a name.
It seems that it was not the end.
He is no one, he is every man, he is yet to have a name. (Click to Tweet)
He was a bit of candy wrapped in shiny foil. (Click to Tweet)
For the rest of The Little Story, read here.
