It Feels Good to Be Admired, No?

Have I seen you before? You look familiar, do I? Maybe it was at that bar on St. Patrick’s Day two years ago that we first saw each other.

Stand still so I can burn your image into my brain. Better yet, stand still so I can draw you. Is that weird?

You feel like a souvenir; just some artifact that I picked up during my travels. You resemble something that could be real and tangible… I’ll never have the real version.

That’s ok. It all feels fleeting anyway, doesn’t it? I’ve come to know my own flightiness – it moves between two extremes. All or nothing.

But here you are in front of me, and you are so beautiful. You must know it, too. Your presence fills the room. Others claw their way to you trying to sit in your gaze to get your attention, get your approval, get you to laugh, get you to come to their next party.

Can I have some of your time? Do you want any of mine?

Would I be something you admire if you were to pass me on the street? Do the treasures you used to yearn for at a distance grow cold and boring once you have them in your hands? I’m tired of thinking about it.

For now I’ll just keep admiring you.