Dear Imaginary Lover, the one who has lovely dark hair and is always very kind to me, brings me flowers, makes me laugh (and has a brother for my friend Vanessa)
It would have been dead nice to meet you last weekend when the weather was hot. I was feeling a bit fed up, and could have done with bumping into you, say at the supermarket or the allotment (because they were the only places I went). You could have smiled that gorgeous smile of yours and said something witty or funny or complimentary and then suggested icecream or a walk, and I would've said yes actually straight away. I was looking a bit scruffy but you wouldn't have minded, in fact you would have thought it was cute, especially because I was filthy mucky from digging, and a bit over-sunkissed on my shoulders but with a few freckles that you liked. Sigh. We could have chattered, and then grabbed a bite to eat, maybe something a bit spicy, or at one of my favourite little arabic cafes, and then you could have driven me home and run me a bath, rubbed aftersun in my burnt shoulders.
I know you don't exist, but maybe could be should be, you know, if you want to meet then you could find me in the supermarket or at the allotment most weekends, and you could surprise me with some tulips or a tub of Ben and Jerry's or just a smile, and we could hang out for a while, what do you reckon?