All red heads are saucy.
These are the words that crescendo in my head, flowing and bouncing, traipsing down the corridors of memory and nostalgia.
I won't take these slights personally, she's just playing hard to get. I'm sure she just needs to make sure of my intentions, and that my reputation is sound. I have to do good works! Of course! I whooped and hollered, startling the nearby flock of geese. I think one of them hissed at me. I didn't care!
I seemed to float and bounce on wings of sparrows! These were her favorite bird, of course.
I'll paint her a portrait! Oops, I can't paint. I'll write her a poem! Damn, I can't spell. I'll feed the poor! Er... I don't like how they smell... I have to find something praiseworthy!...
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