I think I might be unintentionally stalking him.
Not to say that I'm above stalking someone I have a crush on. I don't call it stalking, really. It's more like careful, calculated observances of his pattern so that I can schedule my movements to be where he is so I can stare at him... And say nothing...
You see, I'm at the point of my life where heartbreak has taught you that the allure of a crush is broken when your crush opens his mouth to speak.
Because, in that moment, he becomes human. His voice higher than you imagined to be, his mannerisms more awkward and erratic than you'd thought they would be, his breathe a little tarter than the minty green freshness you were hoping for...
But, as I watch him, he can be anyone I want him to be.
Currently, he is six-foot- five and dark as the lead on a number 3 pencil. His shoulders are pushed back in an easy confidence. His bald head glistens under the flickering light of the old F train and his back muscles are faintly straining as he shoulders the weight of his blue gym bag. His beard is about 3 days away from being groomed and 4 days away from needing to be. Against the wool of his steel grey long coat, with one hand, he cradles a worn leather satchel with creases in all the right places. In the other hand, a book that he's either read more that once, or has borrowed from the library.
And as I start to write him, he's perfect.
