The Itch is Back.

Every time. I don't think it ever failed. There was the beauty yet again, in the most unsuspected person. It was someone I saw weekly, and for four weeks or so now I didn't see it. I didn't see it until just now. He wore a certain cologne that make me feel icky inside, until I saw the beauty of him, then I liked the smell. He didn't wear his normal jacket and tie today. I don't know why he didn't, but instead he wore a short sleeve striped shirt, and it was that shirt that showed me. It was so odd. The Shirt he wore showed off his pecks, which I had never noticed before. His arms were strong, but I couldn't tell until he pushed a table across the room. It was like an instant jab to the heart. Every new movement more striking than the last. The muscles that danced just under his skin was a pure tease, defiantly because I knew I would never have him. Not only was it taboo for this situation, but I would only be around him until December, and then I would never cross his path again. It was sad to me really. I saw his hands, long, lanky, beautiful fingers. Ones I wish I could draw on paper, but I never could. They were artwork in the real world. I wish I could touch them, but I could only look. He smiled also, and It wasn't normal for him, but it was interesting. So very interesting. I could watch him all day if I could. How is muscles moved under his skin when he used hand gestures, or how he sat on the table. His hands, his arms, his pecks. How? How did I miss this? It was like pulling a block from a drain when I had to walk out, or a cork from the bottle. I think I even heard the popping sound. The smell of his cologne pulling at me until I escaped it. Yet, the image is still here. It will be an itch, until I found the imperfection in it. Then It would fade, like the one before did, and life would be normal yet again. Until that time came though, I had something pretty to look at once again.