I’m in love with a boy in a boy band.

He’s the one who wears suspenders and red pants a lot.

In pictures I can’t always pick him out in the lineup.Because sometimes he has his hair blow dried, sometimes spiked up and sometimes he’s wearing quite a lot of eyeliner.

I know he’s not the blond one or the ambiguously ethnic one or the one that REALLY looks like a girl, but the other three are kind of interchangeable.

However, there’s no mistaking those dimples.

I know that I’m a little old to have a pop star crush

and I realize that I am possibly three times his age but I think he would understand an older woman.

It’s so obvious that he’s wise beyond his years.

I can see behind that twinkle in his eyes and tell that he’s really pretty serious.

And, I think, quite lonely.

He’s not like the other guys in the band.

He’s different, deeper. I don’t think people really understand him.

He’s not conceited. He just happens to have a great voice and is – by far – the best dancer.

These are gifts. He’s indebted to the world to share them.

But fame and fortune. He doesn’t really care about all that.

I know he’s the real genius behind the group.

Every band has one.

When they sing that one song about “the girl I never noticed before” I just know that he is singing about me.

Well, of course, not really about me, but someone just like me – mature and wise – not some giggling teen.

I’m sure that if I ever got the chance to meet him. Even if – and I picture this scene a lot (in slow motion) if I could just make eye contact with him – like while he was ducking into his limo with the rest of the band – he’d know, he’d just know.

And I think,

if I ever managed to get that close to the band, I wouldn’t get him mixed up with the other two that look like him.

I’d only have a split second, I’m sure, but that’s all the time that soul mates need to recognize each other.