Oh, sweet boots:
I have admired you from afar for so very, very long.
I know that you aren't my type, per se. Not nearly as right as wrong.
A little too chunky, way too clunky, not quite as tall or short as flatters me.
You are more the old me I have worked to shed than the new me I strive to be.
It's easy to talk myself out of this before it's begun.
It's not even the right season for a new relationship like this one
But all I see are the things that are right.
Like your grey, which is neither too dull nor too shiny and bright.
Like your heels, which are high enough to lift me up but wide enough to support.
Like your height, which may not be most flattering to my short legs but feels just right to me.
So even though my friends tell me you are not a good choice
I follow my gut
And engage in pursuit.
You shall be mine.