Though

You’re one in a million.

Though as the world’s population creeps ever higher, that does mean there are approximately 7,000 others like you. Given my bias and the unequal life expectancies between genders, that means there are approximately 4,000 women at least equal or even better. But that’s still a tiny proportion, so yay you for making it into the top 0.07 percentile.

You’re one in a million,
My bright, shining star.

Though not in as much as you consistently burn hydrogen in a massive nuclear fusion reaction that has been exploding for billions of years, nor in the sense that you weigh billions of times more than the Earth, or that you predate the existence of the Earth itself. It could be said that I orbit you, but not in the literal sense, as the gravitational attraction between us is so small as to be immeasurable. I meant it more in the sense of sailors of old, who navigated the seas by the position of the stars. I rely on you for navigating through my life, though for practicality I prefer my sat-nav.

You’re one in a million,
My bright, shining star.
Your charms? Without number!

Though infinity is a theoretical mathematical construct and does not exist in the real world. Even space is finite. Given sufficient time and an objective measurement it should be possible to number your charms, though the challenge would be to define exactly what a charm is. After all, I find your tendency to giggle at unintentional double entendres in cookery shows endearing, where another might find it irritating. Nevertheless, my initial hypothesis, untested yet by objective experimentation, is that you have many charms, even if they are finite.

You’re one in a million,
My bright, shining star.
Your charms? Without number!
Your looks? Without mar.

I personally find the small mole near your nose attractive, and though your ears protrude slightly more than other women I have dated, your tendency to wear your hair long means this is not noticeable most of the time. To be frank, the only time I notice them is when we’re in bed, and quite honestly at that point you could look like the wicked witch of the west and I wouldn’t care.

You’re one in a million,
My bright, shining star.
Your charms? Without number!
Your looks? Without mar.

You said you’d return,
An hour to buy food.
It’s been sixty-two minutes.
Have you left me for good?

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About snodlander
Snodlander is the nom de plume of Bob Simms. He is an IT trainer, but it's not as glamourous as it sounds. When he's not enthralling classes with adventures through SQL Server, he writes, draws and drinks his own home-brew. Buy his novel on Amazon Kindle at The Young Demon Keeper, It's 74p, for crying out loud!

One Response to Though

  1. snodlander says:

    And Er Indoors says I have no romance

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