The Art of Storytelling Part 1

I'm in love with him. I don't know him well enough so I guess I'm in love with the IDEA of him. Just the thought of him is enough to sit me on top of the highest mountain of happiness. But it's just an IDEA and the facts are real. Factually I may never see him again in this lifetime. I may never again hear his voice, let alone hear him speak my name. I may never again have the pleasure to be in his presence and become so captivated by his being that I seem to forget how in love with his IDEA that I am. Because at that time I am consumed by something unexplainable. He commands my attention without demanding it and without me realizing it. I think he is the truth. He seems so real. And I believe I would more than love the way he could make me feel. If only I could be a reflection of him. My God, I'd be the biggest narcissist there is. An artist in every sense of the word. See, he's already painted his picture on the ceiling of my memory with no paint and sans brush and composed a 4 movement symphony just for my whimsy with no orchestra but the idee fixe contiues to play in my mind. Such a creative soul. If I could look at myself and see him, speak and hear him, touch and feel him, think and understand him. But it's still just an IDEA, an ever present IDEA. A lingering IDEA and yet there is hope....