He calls me "miss poet"

I read somewhere that if you want to intrigue men, write poetry. The rationale behind it being that men do not understand it and therefore are curious about how to go about writing stuff that strikes chords in people. I feel as though my life experiences are an allegory to the greater things in store, I hope I don't have to be too careful about living it though. My lil wild spirit, like the personality of my tousled hair says nay to decorum and doing things step by step. I question reality, and how often we misconstrue what we actually mean. Yet I never know what I really mean, I see similar facets of myself in dear friends' blunders and erroneous ways. But when it comes to the crunch I am sure I will be in diaspora like them too. Although 'diaspora' might not be entirely the correct word to use, it sure does express how I feel about that, yea.

Endearingly Ches called me miss poet in the latest email. Got so caught up with stuff and people, coming back that I almost forgot about his existence, and shockingly berated myself on how could that be. Then again, it has been said that 'out of sight, out of mind.' I guess for some people it works, like an anthropological fetish we humans need to cling on to something material, like a cherished photograph, or a keepsake given by the missed one. The 'thing' becomes loaded with sentimental value and looking at it brings fond memories; although in reality it does seem absurd. I guess that is why talking for some people also works. For me it doesn't, I prefer to keep the view that the heart has its secrets and since it is supposed to be a secret, then telling anyone about it defeats the purpose already. So, not to sabotage reality and my beautiful life, buried deep within the recesses of my heart are many things that will remain so till its' time. I believe that as there are 4 seasons, there is a right and opportune time, how to release it then, I'm not so sure about that. Perhaps just follow your heart and the rest will just fall in place. And I just realised the fallacy of my earlier statement 'cuz I've hoarded up old love letters, even kept emails and stored sms-es in 'archive'. For years. I'm really a softie at heart after all. Give me a hug?