Delirium

Having crushes is the most fun a girl can have with her clothes on.

Girl meets boy, usually within a 5 metre radius or in my case, as far as my eyes can see without glasses - which is about 1 metre. Girl finds guy attractive and so the story goes.

The point of attraction, of course, varies from pure aesthetics to the most random, the most trivial and the most frivolous of reasons. That’s the insanity: to be so besotted over what could only be described as nothing. There’s a thrill in being so pointlessly giddy to see the sight of him and yet to feel so hopelessly frustrated when words simply escapes you. It’s the exchange of the mute, the subtle unspoken cues that begs for his undivided attention. Swish of hair here. An exagerrated giggle there. A swaggering hips here. An unbuttoned button there. Slicked lips. Rouge cheeks. All ruffled up and gorgeous, you think.

So lost in wanting the attention that you’ve somehow lost the track as to why he’s always on your mind and why he lies in every picket fenced fantasies. It’s irrational. It’s impossible. It’s madness. You say you want it to disappear. You say you don’t want the illusion. But you know the ache is insanely delicious and you want it. He’s the smile that hangs on the edges of your lips in the lone silent moments. He’s the guy that makes you quote the cheesiest pop songs and you can’t bear to admit it.

And you are scared. Scared that you want this more than reality could ever offer.

Still you wonder if that fantasy could be true.

It’s hard to think that you might not be real.
You’re in every word i see
… but do you see me?