Essay: Papillons dans mon estomac.
Translated: Butterflies in my stomach
They're red in colour and they've been fluttering their flappy wings in my stomach since the sunny July of two OH ten.
Yes dear, that pink flush on my face is because of you.
I wanted to write profound lines about you and me. Like a Wordsworth-meets-lovestruck-Shakespeare epic poem of 200 verses. But, we all know that.. I can't.
So I decided to use the red butterfly metaphor. It's spontaneous, passionately red and unique, mostly like us?
(It's actually just a pretty butterfly but I PRONOUNCE IT all those things. Capiche?)
Excuse me for being out straight this time. Maybe this made you smile as well?
Also considering you are my only reader, it's a risk par excellence.