Headlights on Dark Roads

He messages me 'maybe we should chill sometime. hit me up.'
His words here fool you...he's an excellent and deep writer but how do I know that?
I delve into his world to the world...I stalk his MySpace.

Then I think...am I in love? As I read his spiritual words of life...turning a walk down the street into a mystical adventure that place you in a state of euphoria...his blog blasting out some Mum and Snow Patrol's Lifeboats...only intensifying my heart's beating.

I'm not in love with him. But I was in love this morning. His words and wants turn my brain inside out. I woke up in the arms of my love...and now I want to try this writer's arms out. They must pulsate life through those veins...

Do I tell the subject of my momentary infatuation that I have imagined the life I want, with him? Of course not...do I tell him that I like his words? No.

I will admirer in secrecy. And I won't write to this writer. Not yet...

My current love treats me like he doesn't think I'll leave...
but I deserve better words...
he doesn't realize how he's making me examine other mouths. And arms.

What will I be this evening?

I want to call this stranger and drive to the Cities...I want to walk amongst the 2am life under orange streetlights...itching hands to hold...with background music playing from the stars...fall in love with smiles and deep conversation...the adventures of the random.
but that only happens in indie films...there would be a long drive, not an overhead shot of headlights on the highway-panning out, only to be on our feet under the lights in the next scene...
That's what Gibbard was saying about wanting life like the movies...reality draws out the awkward.
The 'i don't know him/her'...'what are their intentions?'...'who are they?'...'how do i act?'...'what do i say?'...

So I will keep my imagination for my getting to sleep tactics...I will keep our love behind my fluttering eyelids.

If only I followed my heart...we could be in love by the time the dew evaporates.