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.