Feeling: Wordy. Bear with me.
Listening to: Singing "Vilja" from Merry Widow... funny, how the class across the hall shut their door.
Reading/Watching: Writing, actually. Being poetic and scribbling away.

It is a very foolish thing, going around all day with love songs in your head.

One of these years I'll outgrow it, or else have reason to sing them aloud instead. In the meantime, I am two sides of a coin- one clever and glib, the other hesitant and pensive.

I walk and my eyes seek him. He rarely enters my orbit, but still I look from side to side and hope to see the telltale smile, the one he shares with everyone, including me.

But I am not a jealous person.

It has ensorceled, invaded, superseded me already. The way I can't stare at him anymore for fear of what he's thinking. The way I feel his presence like a bead under my mattress, circling behind me; he is on my anxious radar. The way I wish he could be there to see me at my best, sweet and witty and comfortable, even though those moments can never be achieved whenever he's within a hundred feet.

The way I wish I knew his number. Though I should never have the courage to call it, though I would have no reason whatever to begin with him, I wish I knew it.

He is as yet a stranger- there is so much of him I don't know, and must distrust until I can prove myself wrong. Because half of me is smoothing the sides of his pedestal. Half of me is pushing him away with cringing hands, afraid to touch.

All of me wonders if I ever flicker on his own radar, if he ever hopes to run into me, even if I am just that slightly interesting girl he spoke with once or twice. He has so many people he talks to. I can't aspire to be the one that merits his particular attention.

Inside I'm hoping he'll avoid me. Deeper in, I'm hoping he'll seek me. At my core I'm hoping this will be the magical exception, the one time I look and someone is looking back.

Inside I'm afraid he's not wise enough to do that. Deeper in, I am incredulous, wondering if perhaps, despite my obvious mediocrity, he is.

It will be the smartest man in the world who sees all the potential in me. And, I fear, the most desperate.

He is not desperate. That is what terrifies me.

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