There's something oddly exciting about liking someone who you don't know. You start building up the idea of how you think they are, or rather, how you want them to be. Playing out the most god awful picture perfect scenarios in your head – like your first date with them, or the first time you kiss, and your little reaction towards everything, and how they'd caress your face and tell you that you're the only one for them. It's fun, and thrilling, but the sad part of it all is you know it'd never actually be like that (except maybe for the lucky few out there. Oh how I wish a little leprechaun would appear this very instant, giving me all the luck in the world. And no, don't even think about sending me a midget carrying a pot of gold chocolate coins, because I can tell the difference you know?).
Okay, so all kidding aside, for me, I get this sort of thrill about the whole crushing-hard-on-someone-you-don't-know-but-having-the-perfect-picture-of-how-you'd-like-them-to-be-in-your-head. But then I get to know a little more about them, and any expectations I once had of how I pictured them to be, start to fall off the face of the earth, getting crushed under huge boulders of self esteem and my pure pessimistic ways of thinking how I'll never find the perfect person. The picture of them, the one you carefully crafted out in that wondrous imaginative mind of yours, slowly fades away, deteriorating into something so unrecognizable to you, that the whole appeal that once made your heart skip a beat every time you see them pass by you in the hallway or stand in front of you in a queue, disappears. And even though I know the rarity there is in a crush developing itself into something greater than just a fleeting surge of a palpitating heart, I still find joy in the early stages, before you get to know them, before your sketch isn't just a sketch anymore, but an actual life-size portrait (water-colors and all).
