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What’s my line?
“But why did you pick me?” and it wasn’t that he was a sort of mythological Greek god. She was in love and needed some sort of definition as to why he loved her in return. Every girl he had ever been with longer than three months had asked “Why me” and, at one point or another, the question really turned into “Worship me?” Through the last few girlfriends he went on autopilot; it was all about telling them what he liked about women in a way where it looked like he was talking specifically them. He’d say “You have a wonderful smile” and she would, but never more than his last date. He, like most men, had a subconscious list of compliments he could honestly say about any would he’d ever date. They were unique; so it was easy to tell them it was so without lying. “Why did you pick me” it didn’t rub off the same way. She was different from simply being factually different. He finally wanted to say something unique only to her. He wanted to say a thousand things he’d never said to anyone else; he’d run dry of unrepeated poetry. So When she asked “But why me?” He smiled, embarrassed, and said, “I love you in a way I can’t quite describe.” She would never realized how much he really loved her, except to see it through a lifetime. He promised then to never repeat what he’d said to her.
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