I admit, I am naive. I fell in love with a cyber-celebrity.
A faux-wood table, a laptop, and my cyber-loafing self. That was the start of my romance with you. From an obscure link on my boss's blog, I clicked on and started my journey to your world; a world of wonderful words, lyrical prose, and emotions that stir my soul.
That has always been my weakness: storytellers and the transparent narratives they weave. And you were outstanding in what you do. You had immense power over me. Each entry was a vicarious experience. They left me wanting more, needing more. Not soon after, I was addicted... to you.
In my make-believe world we've met in the gym you've been working out in. I've invited you to a little chat, a date if you will, in that coffee shop not far away from where you work. You had a tall Americana, which I found to be quite surprising. I've always pictured you as sensible and smart but never really to the point of being an Americana drinker. Perhaps the bitterness satisfied your desires, a twisted parallel to the countless stories of heartache in your blog. But all the same, I found it endearing. You with your tall Americana, and me with my decaf macchiato.
You looked uninterested. After all, I was just a fan-boy, a stalker if you will. And not in a million years would you take a second look at me, what with my lanky zero-impact self. Our romance was doomed from the very start. You deserved more. I was a puny mortal before a demi-god.
But then you smiled and that made my day. I suddenly felt butterflies in my stomach and they fluttered up to my mouth painting a smile. I smiled back.
Thank you for your generosity. Know that I cry when you cry. I cursed the boys that broke your heart. And as you go and find your way to that one person you'll spend the rest of your life with, I pray that you'll take a look back. I don't have much to offer... just some wishful thinking and my honest admiration.