A coffee shop. Old comic books, and boys you'll never have.
Because every heartbeat is his first and every glint in his eye is the liveliest, and every one of his laughs makes your blood race through your flesh.
He's been coming here week after week and so have you.
The first time was coincidence, the second was fate, the third was desire, the fourth was pain.
Because the boy who's name you don't know smiles and laughs and sips his latte, and there's a girl with him, and his hands flutter in the air as he speaks.
And those pretty slender fingers, those pretty tattooed arms.
You know he plays guitar, you know he's in a band.
He's the pretty boy guitarist, you're the hermit artist freak.
You stare at him, that's all you do, and you bask in his light and in his laughter, laughter that isn't for you, tender kisses on lips you'll never taste.
Sometimes you draw him, before your mind catches you, before you realize drawing a boy you've never even met is borderline psycho.
It's wishing on stars for things that will never come.
It's whispered "I love you"s to souls that'll never listen.
Today, he's wearing a band shirt, and he's swept his hair behind his ears. Sunglasses hide those brown and golden eyes, sunglasses hide his darkest secrets.
Sometimes you stare at him sip his latte.
Sometimes you wish you could stop feeling this way.
Sometimes you dream of your skin touching.
Sometimes you're an instant away from standing up, sometimes you're seconds away from going over there to talk to him.
Because then you sit back down, then you dive back into your comics.
And the pretty boy guitarist stands up and pays his check, and he flirts with the cashier.
You know every move. You know how he wipes his hands on his jeans before getting his wallet.
You know how he laughs and tosses his hair back, and as you look at him light a cigarette as soon as he's outside, for a moment you breathe someone else's world in, for a moment you're no longer scared, you're no longer hopelessly in love, you're no longer lonely.
But only for a moment.
Then, the pretty boy is gone.
Then, the coffee shop door shuts with a soft click, and there's only fallen leaves left to dance in cold bitter air.
And it's the way he cocks his head.
And it's the way he smiles.