he's the reason i can't sleep

So, there's this boy. There is always a boy. Well, sometimes a girl. And on the rare occasion, a man. But most times, there's a boy.
And I don't quite know how to put him into words. I'm not sure that I can ever really say what I want to say. But everything about him makes me feel inadequate. And I guess that's a pretty dismal start.
I want to write about how beautiful he is but I think about how I beat that word into submission. I've managed to make it meaningless. Oh wow that chaise is so beautiful that girl is beautiful this song is so fucking beautiful her pain is beautiful will someone make me stop?

But there's this boy. He's ridiculously sexy. And he makes me ache.
He makes me want him in ways that I've never wanted anyone before. Okay. That's probably a lie. But when I'm around him, I feel like that can possibly be true. I can't stop wanting to kiss him. And I haven't kissed him yet.
But when he stands close to me, so close that his lips brush against my ear. So close that we are literally breathing the same air...

There's this boy and he's taking up my psychological personal space. He plays games with my mind that I told myself I would never let someone play. All of a sudden he has this absolute power and it's absurd because at some point, I believed myself to be too strong to succumb to the will of another human being. But I guess I was always wrong.

All of a sudden, there's this boy. And I simply can not function around him. I am rendered stupid and I don't know how to correct it. This has never happened to me before. I'm being confronted with nevers. Assaulted with nevers. There is a cosmic conspiracy contrived to remind me that there is indeed a first time for just about everything.

I'm frustrated. I'm a mess. In my eyes he's as close to perfect as I'm allowed to find.
There's a boy. And nothing makes sense. Nothing that I say feels right. And I'm afraid that it will always be like this. Anticipation on my end. Disappointment on his.

if i'm not infatuated, then you know something's wrong

I am a stalker. There, i said it.
This is like, me on the road to recovery maybe.
But probably not. I kind of like that crush-like feeling that I get everytime I discover someone new and amazing who sips yerba mate, no sugar thank you very much, at all hours of the day. You like mate? I like mate! Let's make out. I am the counter girl Alicia Keys was trying to convey in You Don't Know My Name. I flirt, I swoon, I slip you free things. I try not to stare. But I do. I clean the table next to yours roughly 32 times. I want to make babies with every 23rd customer. I fall in love with Brazilian girls with girlfriends and I try to break them up with gifts of cheesecake and iced chais. This is clearly an illness. But since I am destined to be forever behind a counter asking, "Anything else?" I don't feel like there is any hope for me.