You

I wonder if I’ve even written about you yet – you’re simply an idea, an elaborate version of what could be. Both of us just characters in my mind with vaguely loose expectations.

Strange, but its overall comforting to pretend of the bigger picture.

And its in that corner of my mind I go to pretend.

Waiting in the grocery store line, or on long drives home.

Painting an imaginary reality.

Perhaps I could speak such a beautiful idea into existence.

Imagine.

You.

An eye catching, handsome, and ambitious cinematographer from some foreign country. Those hazel-green eyes like the place you came from. Eyes that are dangerous enough to capture your gaze and snatch your heart up.

You. A silly heartthrob covered in ink from around the world.

Simply a student, dedicated to his work, never get’s enough sleep, parties hard and works long hours on set with little pay.

A true dreamer. Wishing, wanting to be known and great.

Admirable.

A Los Angeles love story – one of many, I’m sure. Hence why you’re the writer and not me.

You tried kissing me the first time we met. You remembered where I grew up, although I swore I never told you. I held your hand and felt like a little girl. You liked checkers, as you gently pointed at my subtle top. Your favorite, you said.

You. A Silent mystery.

Me. An overwhelmingly stubborn lost force.

Yet you lurk around right in front of my fingertips.

But why do you watch from afar?

Two very compatible forces. With complex histories.

A cinematic, romantic story to one day be written by you.

But here I am, gripping the steering wheel going down the 405 – I start to imagine again.

Eventually, after many years of running into each other, we finally meet again on some magical night in the hills of Los Angeles, and you finally get to have that kiss, this time by the pool, overlooking the beautiful city as it glimmers on a warm summer night.

You have returned, and now we are cured, from the dark cloud that lingered deep in back of our minds.

Hard to take in this new reality. The weightless breath of fresh air each day.

Because there is nothing wrong with being wanted.

To want you.

I’ll speak it into existence.

This fairy tale seems too good to pass up on at least trying.

One day we will wind down Sunset Blvd towards the ocean, laughing.

With lightning in our hearts again.

This is love. A missed feeling I keep imagining with only you.