She’s my favorite nerd…

After sharing a hookah with PB, we sat and stared at her ceiling. Seriously. After about 5 minutes of complete silence and ceiling-staring, she blurted out, “Erik, why are you so into that lass?” She looked at me as if she’d been waiting for me to answer that question as soon as she came back stateside. I told her that my chick is dope. She gets me. She loves my “asshole ways”. We have conversations of substance. There’s seemingly never a dull moment between us. She’s hot without even trying. Her “pervert laugh” makes me laugh, because I have one, too. When she calls me pet names, I don’t cringe; I know she does it to be funny. She NEVER sends me “What you doing?” text messages, and it’s not the first thing that she says when I answer her phone calls. We read books…together. She’s smart, but doesn’t feel the need to rub it in. She uses proper grammar. The weirdo label? She fully embraces it. We make fun of each other as if we were kids on a playground. She’s not afraid to let me know when I make her heart beat short. She complains, and I don’t mind. She whines at times, and I don’t mind. I don’t mind letting her vent. She makes sure that I know that she’s all mine. I think of her, and then think to myself, ‘Why the hell did I have to go through so much just to find her?’ Then I remind myself that I should just be grateful to have found her. She doesn’t mind my affairs with MJ. She encourages it at times. She’s the hottest bookworm I know. I love how passionate she can get. I love her slang, and her voice. I love her “normal” laugh. Oh hell, I love her, period. P.S. I miss Karen!!! P.P.S. #shoutout to #myfavoritenerd You’re the illest, miss…

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