You probably have a type.
Brunettes or blondes.
The ones who don't text first.
The ones who don't philosophize at two in the morning.
Maybe even the ones who don't arrange dances in the middle of the kitchen to old rock.

And then I come.
And all your "types" nervously smoke near my heels.

I won't behave "correctly".
I can suddenly disappear for a day - because I was busy with reality, not checking my phone.
And then write: "I missed you. Your smile couldn't get out of my head. Is there a moment for flirting?"

I can seem cold - and suddenly melt you with one sentence.

I can watch in silence, and then laugh so hard that you want to hear it again. And more.

I won't be perfect. But I will be real.

I'm not your type.

I'm your exception.

The one who wasn't planned. The one who broke your favorite rules. The one who makes you want more.

And you know what's interesting?

You're not my type either. But while you're reading this, you're already becoming an exception 😉
So... let's take a chance, shall we?