i kinda stole this, well took permission but didnt get the go ahead to post it here. but who cares yeah?..lol
most girls have come across the santinis of the world, proteges of casanova,Don Juan, frank sinatra and the fictional 'bond...james bond' ...
i was quite impressed(so impressed i stole it) as it was written by a guy, he got to the core of what the ladies feel(maybe he is a santini no?) or maybe he's been done the santini...cos come to think of it there are female santinis around the globe too, those taking over from helen of troy , cleopatra, fantasy queen(lol) et co.
enjoy this...would really love to hear our santini stories
The infinitivity of the darkness of space,
Nature abhors vacuum, but still the screams in my heart cannot be heard.
The earth is a mere speck when placed in the foreground of the universe
how much smaller, this train carriage,
even more minute then, me, Claire
little ol' Claire.
Not much more than a statistic.
I think thats an accurate description of how he made me feel.
You'd think the daily 10 to 20 requests for my phone number would make me feel special.
You'd probably also think the 100 or so envious looks from all kinds of girls and women would invoke some sense of superiority in me.
Does my 500 Pound purse equal contentment?
Do my trendy designer clothes equal confidence?
You know what, there might have been elements of truth in all the above if Santini didn’t grip my soul so tightly.
The time we spent together was great;his touch, his stares, his kiss.
He'd caress me with his words, have me wide open,
but i could never seem to get into him,it was like he knew my all, but i only saw his surface.
The sex was amazing, he made me laugh,he was real with me, he gave the best advice.
My friends said they really liked him, and always asked why we werent official,
I always gave excuses, til i ran out and lied we were.
he moved with a certain calm, cool, which i recall the most from the numerous times i lay on my bed and watched him leave my room.he never let me walk him to the door.
The heartache would begin a few hours after his departurethe realisation that he didnt fully below to me would creep up on me slowly
My mind would be flash flooded with thoughts of the other women he might be with,
what he tells his friends about me, if I'll ever see him again.
You see he answers everything i ask him about himself, but yet he seems like a stranger to me in someways.
Maybe Santini is some southern American word for Satan!
A bit similar aren't they?
I never see him when i want to, which to be honest, is all the time,but i offer no resistance when i get that call or text saying 'im comin over...'
I want to let him go,i think that will be best for me,
but i fear the hole it'll leave in me.
I fear I'll never meet another that lives up to him.
But he hurts me so much without tryin...
by.........aka dini dangerfield.
(tried to get a picture to describe this, my creative juice kept flooding over, but i just couldnt get the right pic)