(no subject)
You met him a few months ago, and somehow he managed to seep into your subconscious like that "take my breath away" song.
Just like you have no idea who sings it, you don't know why hes there.
But he is, whether you like it or not.
You can't change that.
You know his cell phone and his address.
You can dial his mom's office (where he works) faster then you can peck-out 911.
♥ But he doesn't know.
His screenname, that generic one with this first name followed by three to five random numbers, has it own category at the top of your buddy list.
Not only do you know what a "buddy alert" is, you've rigged your computer to play "Crazy in Love" from "I think I'm in with you" every time his screen name changes from gray to black.
Then his away message comes down, and you have a decision to make.
To IM or not to IM?
These are the ridiculous games that you play on a daily basis.
But he doesn't know ♥
He's it.
All right, so maybe not "it" it.
Not necessarily Mr. Right, but closer to Mr. Right-up-there-with-Brad-Pitt-and-Johnny-Depp-on-your-list-of-people-you'd-give-anything-to-be-stranded-with-on=a=broken-down-elevator.
But it's about more then that.
When is it ever about more then that?
Never.
Not like stupid girly fights, overpriced purses, embarrassing Grandparents more, but closer to brand name purses, two new CD's, a twinkie and a movie you have no interest in seeing more.
♥ But he doesn't know.
He's gorgeous, but gorgeous is an understatement.
More like you're startled every time you see him because you notice something new in a "Where's Waldo" sort of way.
More like you can't stop writing third grade run-on sentences because you can't remotely begin to describe something...someone..so inherently amazing.
But you're a writer.
You can describe anything.
That's what you do: pictures to words, events to words, words to even better words.
But nothing seems right.
More like you're afraid that if you stare at him for too long, you'll prove your parents right: that yes, your face will stick that way.
But you wouldn't mind ♥
You wouldn't mind that the questioning, "hello?" on the other end makes you want to smile and throw up at the same time.
You wouldn't mind worrying about what to get him for his birthday and spending $300 when you only have $17.50 and a gas card to your name.
You wouldn't mind that he left his cell-phone at your house the night before...
Because if gives you a chance to check what icon pops up when you call him.
♥ So he doesn't know.
Sure, he's hot, but it's about more then that.
You two connect.
Anything you throw at him, he can throw right back.
You figured out what's going on in that predictable head of his in under five minutes.
But something tells you his heart would take five years.
You remember everything hes ever said to you, and when that freaks him out you blame it on your photographic memory (which is a lie).
You can't remember your Cousin's Aunt's name, and you can't remember that your english paper due four days ago, yet you remember the middle name of the kid who tripped him in fifth grade and gave him that cute little scar on his shoulder.
Maybe its because you actually listen when he talks.
When do you actually listen?
Never.
But he doesn't know ♥
Just like you have no idea who sings it, you don't know why hes there.
But he is, whether you like it or not.
You can't change that.
You know his cell phone and his address.
You can dial his mom's office (where he works) faster then you can peck-out 911.
♥ But he doesn't know.
His screenname, that generic one with this first name followed by three to five random numbers, has it own category at the top of your buddy list.
Not only do you know what a "buddy alert" is, you've rigged your computer to play "Crazy in Love" from "I think I'm in with you" every time his screen name changes from gray to black.
Then his away message comes down, and you have a decision to make.
To IM or not to IM?
These are the ridiculous games that you play on a daily basis.
But he doesn't know ♥
He's it.
All right, so maybe not "it" it.
Not necessarily Mr. Right, but closer to Mr. Right-up-there-with-Brad-Pitt-and-Johnny-Depp-on-your-list-of-people-you'd-give-anything-to-be-stranded-with-on=a=broken-down-elevator.
But it's about more then that.
When is it ever about more then that?
Never.
Not like stupid girly fights, overpriced purses, embarrassing Grandparents more, but closer to brand name purses, two new CD's, a twinkie and a movie you have no interest in seeing more.
♥ But he doesn't know.
He's gorgeous, but gorgeous is an understatement.
More like you're startled every time you see him because you notice something new in a "Where's Waldo" sort of way.
More like you can't stop writing third grade run-on sentences because you can't remotely begin to describe something...someone..so inherently amazing.
But you're a writer.
You can describe anything.
That's what you do: pictures to words, events to words, words to even better words.
But nothing seems right.
More like you're afraid that if you stare at him for too long, you'll prove your parents right: that yes, your face will stick that way.
But you wouldn't mind ♥
You wouldn't mind that the questioning, "hello?" on the other end makes you want to smile and throw up at the same time.
You wouldn't mind worrying about what to get him for his birthday and spending $300 when you only have $17.50 and a gas card to your name.
You wouldn't mind that he left his cell-phone at your house the night before...
Because if gives you a chance to check what icon pops up when you call him.
♥ So he doesn't know.
Sure, he's hot, but it's about more then that.
You two connect.
Anything you throw at him, he can throw right back.
You figured out what's going on in that predictable head of his in under five minutes.
But something tells you his heart would take five years.
You remember everything hes ever said to you, and when that freaks him out you blame it on your photographic memory (which is a lie).
You can't remember your Cousin's Aunt's name, and you can't remember that your english paper due four days ago, yet you remember the middle name of the kid who tripped him in fifth grade and gave him that cute little scar on his shoulder.
Maybe its because you actually listen when he talks.
When do you actually listen?
Never.
But he doesn't know ♥