Bad Habit.

Grace is just a weakness, or so I have been told.

– I’ll be Good, Jaymes Young

As terrible a person Humbert Humbert was, even if I lack an ability to empathise with his sickening rape of Dolores, I sometimes find in myself a similar stumbling of approach in my amorous exploits(or the lack of it)

As easy as describing their inner angels, their poise and grace is to me; the indelible ink with which I remember the curve of their smiles, I tend to forget the useful, realistic details.

I have had an aching crush on a junior for the last year, ever since I saw her demonstrating a dance-pose in the middle of a crowded field.
I swear I knew her name before this incident, I had spoken to her before, and had felt nothing.

Now that I had suddenly found the familiar buzz of limerence in my system, I cannot for the love of all things holy, remember what her last name was.

Even the thought of stalking her on Facebook makes my skin crawl, and I feel like an old, forty year old hairy man staring lecherously at a nymphet riding a bike.

Yet, when she walked past me in school, I followed her with my eyes like my life depended on it.

My conscience is sure conflicted.

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