There have been more instances than I can ever recall when I wanted you- ‘The’ hot guy with bushy beard and brawny muscles. I would check your Facebook multiples of times a day just to know what you’re upto now.
There you are, in your tee flaunting your biceps and abs. Your lifestyle, quite different from mine, at least it seems so from the Facebook. I’m intrigued beyond limits.
You’re a frequent traveler to places- with friends or alone. Traveling is your love. You have your friends and your gym with you, a girlfriend- I don’t know. I imagined it would be me. I wanted to be it.
But why do I want it?
Am I too insecure of myself? To not understand a simple saying-“All that glitters is not gold” or too stupid or immature to be fascinated by just one facade of you- your body.
Isn’t there much more of you than your body? Beyond your complexion, blue eyes, lips, bicep, six packs; I’m sure there must be more- your nature, temper, kindness, humanity, self-esteem or good manners.
Unaware of all these, I still want to be your friend, honestly, more than that.
But why? Because I loved the way you appeared but never could I assume the way you would look at me, in my eyes. Because never have you looked at me ever even when I cross the street in front of your eyes every day. You seem to ignore my existence each time. You don’t know if I’m there or not, glancing at you or not.
However, does my love exist or not? Who’s it for? For someone I don’t know a bit about?
Is my love an arousing curiosity or plain lust or a truthful love? Even if ever I get you, would I be able to proudly say that I have loved you from quite some time?