What's Your Number?

One day. Three guys asking for my phone number. I guess you could say this semester is about to get interesting. But that is not something I cared much for today. What is there, inside me, is a kind of affection you do not feel everyday. Something that seems to grow in a way and grasps my skin when i least expect it. 

The carpet is rough, but being against the wall and talking about failed affairs with some success with a good friend makes for a great scene. We might have spent minutes, hours or days there, it would all make for the same feeling of sleepiness after a big lunch. Watching bodies as they walk past us, but not really looking through them, is more fun that one might imagine. Oh how I loved those shorts, and how beautiful her hair was. He might be too tall and she is wearing the wrong shoes. All just pathetic attemps at making oneself feel better while beating another about it. Not in a negative light, I hope you understand, but more in a way that could entertain me enough around 3 PM. Sitting there, I watch and a minute of distraction places my eyes indirectly onto him, walking by me, not aware of my being, just doing his own thing. To follow? Yell? Run? No, nothing more than to send a text that makes for a conversation with him. But wait, what is so interesting about this? The moment I became aware of his presence my heart sent out a signal to the rest of the body giving me a rush I haven't felt in a while. What is this silly song my body sings and where can I stop it from replaying itself? I promise, I am not falling from him, I promise. It seems as though the wrong people always feel better for us, ain't that the truth? But I enjoyed the feeling, it was something I thought would take a while to break free from my heart. The blood flows stronger, better and gives me the power over the words on this paper. Call him a friend, form of inspiration or someone who simply exists, but his being makes mine fill with joy in its own twisted way. So how would I feel if he ever read this? To be honest, it would not change much for me. These are all of my feelings, all of my thoughts, drained onto this virtual notebook.  And as long as I have a reason to write, him knowing of it will not affect me much. He can take it as flattering or come suprised, shocked even as to my even dare to write such things.  Because, in all honestly, if it was centuries behind this view on a man in a loving relationship could be frowned upon, even thought of as tasteless. But you take it as you want it as long as I leave a mark on your mind.