Hey… hey. You, over there, the beautiful guy with the perfect outfit that looks at once put-together and not too done-up — the one with the glasses and slightly mussed hair and the smile that could cure cancer. Yeah, you. I love you. You’re wonderful, and perfect, and you have turned this otherwise hum-drum commute into a chance for me to think about how amazing it is to be alive in this world.
Don’t be creeped out. I don’t really love you. At least, not in the way we’re used to thinking about love. It’s not like I want to kidnap you and take you over to Bed, Bath and Beyond to get some monogrammed hand towels for our new beach house (though I kind of do). It’s just that, sometimes, walking through this city can feel so dull and repetitive — so filled with people who are rude or sad or seem completely indifferent to the world around them — and then you came along, like a ray of high-cheekboned sunshine, and made everything fun again. I love you for just being you.
I’m not going to do anything, don’t worry. I’m just going to stare at you for a while and think about how wonderful it is when you see a guy who’s put a little effort into his appearance. (I mean, I’m not looking for something styled from an editorial shoot in GQ, but with all the trouble I’m expected to go through as a woman, it’s nice to see a man with a good control of hair mousse and fitted shirts.) I’m sure that you get stared at all the time — how could you not? — but please know that my interest is purely visual, and that you’re not going to have to awkwardly scoot away from me as I draw ever-closer to you to see if you wear the subtle-yet-pleasant kind of cologne that I imagine you do. (Though, while we’re on the topic, what scent do you wear? Just curious.)
It’s just this strange thing I do where I allow myself to briefly fall in love with another human being that I see on a train, or the sidewalk, or in a warm café. It has nothing to do with you as a person (and while I’m sure you’re nice, you could very well be an asshole), it’s just something my mind likes to do when I’m going through a regular, boring day. We often forget that every single person we pass is a complete human being, and not just set pieces to our personal story. That is, of course, until we pass an absolutely gorgeous person — and then it is all we can do not to imagine every single thing about them and consider them deeply as their life briefly interacts with ours. It’s kind of fun to let your mind wander, and take in how small you are when compared to the tapestry of lives and people that exists all around you. Thank you for making me existential, hot guy.
Though I know we are going to go our separate ways, never seeing each other again, you having most likely not even been aware of my presence — I’m glad we met. I’m glad I had a few moments of pure visual giddiness, a time in which to imagine what this total stranger must be like in his personal life, and was temporarily distracted from what can be the profound isolation of city life. Seeing beautiful people walk down the street, people who are that kind of beautiful to go beyond just the physical and seem to almost be pleading with the world in their deep-set eyes, is like observing a painting. Aesthetic perfection, passing through your life to give it just a moment of that cultured pleasure. I love you, beautiful guys on the street, for making this possible in my life.
You are the unsung heros, you are getting us all through our boring morning commutes, and I salute you.
P.S. I’m having a party at my house this weekend, would you all like to come and just hang out shirtless?