Falling Slowly

It's funny how you can see someone once, and never really stop thinking about him. Having done nothing very special and not having spoken anything but plain words, on your mind he remains. He is a hopeful thought, a 'maybe' thought. A thought with eyes that you know somehow from somewhere. A thought that smiles a stranger's smile that you know because it fills some sort of Jerry McGuire 'you complete me' void.

It's funny. And by funny, I mean annoying. He's on my brain like a fly on cow crap. In my head I now have scenarios of impossible romantic situations in which he is Heath Ledger (dead) and I am Julia Styles, or he's Tom Cruise (who's totally gay) and I'm Renee Zelweger, or he's Patrick Swayze (dead) and I'm Jennifer Grey. And soon I've got Secret Garden, Can't Take My Eyes Off of You, and Time of my Life simultaneously stuck in my head as we dirty dance with paint ball guns in a football stadium. I hate it. Hate it. I don't understand. He's just a boy.

And by just a boy, I mean he's a little more than that.

Just a little.