The Red Shirt

"...Coz it's frightening to be swimming in this strange sea, BUT I'D RATHER BE HERE THAN ON LAND..."

It's the red shirt, definetly the red shirt, I decided. technically it's not red, some may call it maroon or crimson or even ruby but I'd call it red simply because I'm biased with the color red...*wink*

I was sleepy to tell you honestly. As I sit there, like a gargoyle or a tree stump in that ever so familiar couch, as I watch the fan blades go whirring, blowing warm air, lulling me to sleep. Her sister, in the dinning room, obviously uncomfortable that a guy is in the living room. I waited for you, and your red shirt.

I barely slept because House kept me up all night, I just can't get enough of his sarcasm and wit. But it was the red shirt, the 99 peso shirt she bought somewhere in Angeles that's pulling me away from slumberland, constantly reminding me of the good things ahead that day. Ooooh, the things we could do, you and I and that special red shirt...

It ain't the make-up though, I hate it when she wears them. Not the hair nor the classy bangs, not her perfect lips nor her hour-glass figure, maybe her scent or her armpits, I'm not sure. It's the red shirt I guess... With a pinch of her smile and a dash of her humor...

Come to think of it, maybe it's not just the red shirt. Maybe it's the way she makes me feel, the way she holds my hand, the way she kisses my shoulder, the way she asks for a kiss, it's the simple things... And her sexy red shirt.

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