I Want To…

Blue jeans, white shirt; that’s all it took. All it took to shift my focus from me to you; for me to break character and look beyond the scope of myself. Naturally, I am a very self centered individual: if it has nothing to do with me and me has nothing to gain from it, then it does not concern me. I am too busy keeping my hair texture smoother than a debit card swipe, my cotton shirt crease free and my white suede shoes scuff free that I ain’t got time to be asking how you feel. Ain’t nobody got time for dat!!  I mean, what is that to do with me? The world is too populated with more philanthropists and humanitarians than it needs for me to take that burden upon myself.

But now, in a deserted parking lot, on a suspiciously fate-inspired looking midnight snack run, you have invaded my peripheral view and I am getting the strongest of urges to allow you to invade my space. I want you to listen to my favorite song and tell me how the hair gel I use looks like sewage goo; I want you to berate my taste in movies and tell me how, with my slightly bulging tummy, I have the body of a cafeteria lady. I want you to notice how I listen to too much Jason Mraz and how it is not normal for a straight guy to have that many Justin Bieber posters in his den, no matter how big a fan he is.

I want to welcome you into my small confined world filled with the legos of my favorite action heroes and a room for my comic books and Star Trek memorabilia. I want you to see my Captain America and Iron Man uniforms; my dart boards that have Vince Macmahon’s (I hope I spelt that right) face on it, for with all that has recently been happening in the WWE, I want to throw darts at his real face. I want to show you my impression of The Rock’s Signature phrases “On behalf of the millions…and millions of the rock’s fans” or “If you smell what the rock is cooking”

I want you to take my attention. I want to know you; to know your name and if it’s okay to remember it. I want to know what interests you, what irks you and what makes you go teary. I want to know your favorite romantic movie: whether it is sleepless in Seattle or The Lake House; I want to know just what you think of Tom Hanks and if you’ve ever had a crush on Denzel. I want to know where you used to go on vacation as a kid and if you also like swimming in the lake. I want to know what’s you favorite dish, if you are a sucker for chicken as I am and what kind of soup you like when you are unwell.

I want to know if it’s okay for me to think about you afterwards and how a date with you under a clear starry sky would be like. I want to ask about your fragrance and why it is so heavenly. I want to know if it would be creepy to you if I got excited each time I caught a whiff of it; at the train station or in the middle of a crowded street. I want to know if I can write my next piece about you, about your beauty and the mysterious nature of your hazel eyes.

I want to know your hopes and dreams and if I can share in them. I want to know your fears and insecurities and if I can shield you from them. What you think of when you lay in bed at night and what invades your thoughts when you sleep. I want to know if I could take up your time, maybe on Saturday at 2 p.m. so that I can take you out on a date; I know a great place down by the lake. The food is terrible, freakishly expensive and the air reeks of fish: you will love it!!

Above all, as you stand across from me (and as my staring at you gets more and more creepy), I want to know this; Do you want this too?


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