Your beard gives me anxiety.
that’s a first.. I’m honestly taken aback. Out of genuine curiosity may I ask why? I’m intrigued…
What could be lurking in its depths? What nefarious intentions are swaddled in its thicket? What warm, cozy murderous ideations are going unheard and unseen, only to be discovered when it’s… too late?
I love beards, but there’s a limit to my love. I like beards that my fingers can caress without a care. I want my fingers to take a carefree stroll across a man’s face, my digits cushioned by a modest layer of scruff.
Yours would require an expedition, a brave crew, supplies. And although I’m not religious, it would probably require a prayer…
I’m frightened. I’m sorry.
Oh, it seems you are perhaps mistaken, for there is great comfort in the grasping a bushy mane, a soothing upon the palms and fingertips with every stride along it’s length, a comfort in its strength. This is no overgrown thicket nor maze of hedges, but rather a carefully orchestrated symphony flowing smoothly from movement to movement, adding delicate harmony to an otherwise bleak and chaotic world..
It is not a dark canopy shading a malicious undergrowth rampant with danger, but rather a vibrant reflection of the radiant soul from which it extends.
And all the wax poetic aside, it honestly takes a good bit of care to keep this shit in check. Shampoo and condition, brush, and apply oil.. every day
There is no comfort to be found in the furry depths of you face. What would happen if I plunged a hand into that thorny shrubbery? Would it come back blooded? Would it come back at all…?
I feel you. I’m sure it’s well maintained, but it’s just not my thing, you know? All of that effort should be properly appreciated and I couldn’t do that.
…it would come back caressed and tantalized.. though that’s a bold assumption that entry is granted. Your critique rings of superficial motivations and this is an eden reserved only for the demonstrably pure.
It’s a fair assumption to make after being messaged twice and I don’t like to beat around the facial bush.
I see that you don’t, both literally and figuratively. Surely though, when you greet strangers you aren’t permitting them to touch you.
This whole conversation stems around the fact that I… don’t want to, though.
Which stems from the assumption that i want you to.. but that’s all rather pedantic I suppose It really is a shame, your conversation is remarkable and of the few with such caliber even fewer exercise it. I will accept the rejection but truthfully with much disdain.
It’s been fun. I’m sure you will find the right person whose heart will be entangled in your tufts and tendrils.
It’s not that crucial.. so long