So in one of life's many spins, I found you right in front on me wanting to order a beer and in an utmost exception I managed to talk to you. You were nice, as nice and pleasant as I had imagined you would be. That turned out to be the problem. Because I fancy you, I behaved like an idiot and I still manage to do so every time you talk to me. I have to defend myself at this point and say: I am a lot more interesting when you are not around. It's just that when I see you my mind is just numb and I cannot communicate to save my life.
It might come across as lack of interest but it is just the opposite. I am so attracted to you, all I can do is escape to that little place in my mind were you and I make music together, laugh and have profound conversations. I see you roll you cigarette while holding the tiny filter between your lips and I tell you stories that make you laugh. In my head you carry this little notebook where you write down all the ideas that come to your mind and could later become part of you art. So there I am, gone imagining all those things, so concerned with that mental happiness, that all that comes out of my mouth is a piece of crap.
I know I don't know you, but I so want to get to do so. That one night we got to talk, or better said, you got to talk, because I was marvelously incapable of keeping up with you, I was really caught by some of your thoughts and opinions and by the kindness underneath them all. I really liked your take on beauty and above all the way you explained it to me. You seemed to be such a good person, some of those that are now really hard to find. I can imagine there a loads of pleasant surprises about you, they just are never gonna be there for me to discover them, you are way out of my league.
After that first night, I thought I'd see more of you, but we never seem to walk each other's way. And I know, I don't even exist in your universe, I mean, you were pretty clear that night showing that you had no interest in me but in my friend. I could not be further away from your life and I imagine I'm not even the vaguest thought. Right now, as I write this lines, I try to think of someone that would be so blurry for me as I am for you, and even though I try, I cannot come up with a name, that is how far away from my thoughts those people I don't care about are, and that must be me for you.
I'll guess I'll have to contempt myself with the beauty of listening to you once and again. Keeping the appropriate distance from the artist.
