They tell me I’m different, somehow.Sure, every woman hears she’s special. An unadorned appeal for her favor, as timeless as it is artless.‍But that’s not what they say. They say ‘different’. They’re describing something objective, discussing it with me frankly. 

Like we’re two scientists trying to work out why, or how exactly, I make them feel a certain way: kingly, light-as-air, with a completely new sense of ease, pride and confidence.‍They’re right that there is something about me, and I think I know what it is.‍‍When we first meet, you won’t fully understand. 

You’ll see a beautiful caramel-skinned woman—vivacious and silly, yet intelligent and charismatic.‍But only later, when you sense how happy we both are, will you fully understand how different I am. It’s a pure instinctual fact, unadulterated by, well, adulthood in this complicated world of man.‍I am your discreet confidant, your rapt listener, and above all your champion. long conversations during those unforgettable times together, growing to understand you as you me, this is what I live for.