spring fever
You aren't going to believe this, but I fall in love a lot. You wouldn't believe that someone as uneducated as me could construe a coherent definition for the word. I really can't. However, [as the adverb goes], I do know that it's a simple word; one syllable, only four letters, and perhaps its for those reasons that it's used so frivilously. It seems to me that falling in love suggests clumsiness. Maybe falling in love is for the young and foolish. In that case, I'll tie my ankles together and take my chances with you.
Even standing in a crowd, I felt like you knew I was watching. I tried to cover my eyes with my hands, worried that they were the spotlights shining over you. You weren't even the most attractive boy in the club but there was something alluring about your nonchalance and the way that you smiled to yourself with your eyes shut so tightly. The way the bass line moved you was sexual as the scintillation of the strobe lights captured your movements like a slide show. You accompanied the break beat like a melody; singing right through me. I navigated my way through the multitude of patrons, desperate to be anywhere conterminous with you.
I scanned the room of hormonal anarchy. The boys were mostly shirtless, reeking of desperation and sexual frustration. I walked my eyes back to the spot where you were dancing but you had disappeared as abruptly as waking up from a dream of heartthrobs and valentines. I started to come down and the music in the club became distorted by the drilling in my head. As I relocated to the bathroom, I studied the ground every so often on the chance that I might stumble upon your foot prints (at which point I would follow them to your where-abouts and declare my love for you even if it might not last more than a day). I closed the bathroom stall and bumped my amusement through a rolled up dollar bill.
I searched my head for something clever that I could say to you. A spontanious way to introduce myself so that you'd never forget my name. And then there you were, with your infinite beauty, sitting on the patio glowing in the moonlight. You were perched on a stool with your legs crossed, dragging a cigarette and chattering with friends. I plotted schemes to get your attention. Ask you for a light. Comment on your shoes. Ask the meaning of your tattoo. You were just so fucking nice that you probably wouldn't have guessed any alterior motives behind my approach anyway. You weren't trying to impress anybody or be funny/ or sexy/ or charming. That much came naturally and you couldn't give a shit about the rest.
I don't know what I was thinking by starring so recklessly. I was too smitten by you to even notice when your eyes caught mine. Maybe I was thinking about you too hard. Maybe you felt it. My blushing cheeks suggested excitement and I hoped to God that you didn't think of me as a pervert or a creep. Maybe you weren't looking at me. You were probably just acknowledging a friend or a lover that waved to you from behind me. I should have asked for your name. I should have told you that I noticed you dancing and that you intrigued me. You're the kind of guy that would have appreciated my romantic gestures, I could tell. Should'uv, would'uv, could'uv...hypotheticals always haunt me but I don't know if its due to the uncertainty or the regret. I wanted to end the masquerade but I became distracted by the sky. I examined the sky for an explanation for my unforeseen infatuation. I knew that Venus must have been out tonight.
Even standing in a crowd, I felt like you knew I was watching. I tried to cover my eyes with my hands, worried that they were the spotlights shining over you. You weren't even the most attractive boy in the club but there was something alluring about your nonchalance and the way that you smiled to yourself with your eyes shut so tightly. The way the bass line moved you was sexual as the scintillation of the strobe lights captured your movements like a slide show. You accompanied the break beat like a melody; singing right through me. I navigated my way through the multitude of patrons, desperate to be anywhere conterminous with you.
I scanned the room of hormonal anarchy. The boys were mostly shirtless, reeking of desperation and sexual frustration. I walked my eyes back to the spot where you were dancing but you had disappeared as abruptly as waking up from a dream of heartthrobs and valentines. I started to come down and the music in the club became distorted by the drilling in my head. As I relocated to the bathroom, I studied the ground every so often on the chance that I might stumble upon your foot prints (at which point I would follow them to your where-abouts and declare my love for you even if it might not last more than a day). I closed the bathroom stall and bumped my amusement through a rolled up dollar bill.
I searched my head for something clever that I could say to you. A spontanious way to introduce myself so that you'd never forget my name. And then there you were, with your infinite beauty, sitting on the patio glowing in the moonlight. You were perched on a stool with your legs crossed, dragging a cigarette and chattering with friends. I plotted schemes to get your attention. Ask you for a light. Comment on your shoes. Ask the meaning of your tattoo. You were just so fucking nice that you probably wouldn't have guessed any alterior motives behind my approach anyway. You weren't trying to impress anybody or be funny/ or sexy/ or charming. That much came naturally and you couldn't give a shit about the rest.
I don't know what I was thinking by starring so recklessly. I was too smitten by you to even notice when your eyes caught mine. Maybe I was thinking about you too hard. Maybe you felt it. My blushing cheeks suggested excitement and I hoped to God that you didn't think of me as a pervert or a creep. Maybe you weren't looking at me. You were probably just acknowledging a friend or a lover that waved to you from behind me. I should have asked for your name. I should have told you that I noticed you dancing and that you intrigued me. You're the kind of guy that would have appreciated my romantic gestures, I could tell. Should'uv, would'uv, could'uv...hypotheticals always haunt me but I don't know if its due to the uncertainty or the regret. I wanted to end the masquerade but I became distracted by the sky. I examined the sky for an explanation for my unforeseen infatuation. I knew that Venus must have been out tonight.