4 Hours (or, ODE TO OUR EPIC ROMANCE)

They say it takes

4 minutes

of staring into someone’s eyes

to fall completely in love with them.

So when I stared into yours for

4 HOURS

next to the subway that day,

while handing out free magazines,

with nothing better to look at

except

your new movie poster,

over and over, again, and

as those mesmerizing eyes

stared directly into mine,

looking at me like

you could see my soul,

it was a little hard not to feel

enchanted/embarrassed enough

to start looking you up

(as soon as my shift ended)

on my phone’s trusty internet browser.

Oh yes, Wiki-hmm-dia, do tell… who IS he???

Heeey, don’t get me wrong!

I swear, this isn’t like me normally,

celebrity crushes always seemed so silly.

Let me assure you, that’s not. even. what. this. is.

My motivations are always noble and pure.

I only searched you up because I was

**surprised**

to see you in a movie I hadn’t

**expected**

Like whoa, thought I had you pegged in one genre,

whatcha you doing over here in another?

And with that artsy director I admired.

HE is the reason I wanted to see the movie.

You, I had lumped endearingly amidst all these

predictably enthralling action hottie superhero stars.

But leading in a gothic horror “romance”?

Could this mean

you were more

**interesting**

than I had previously given you credit for?

Indeed you were!

Color me impressed!

Because of your theatrical range, of course.

The country singer,

the tragic soldier,

Shakespearean theatre?

Certainly not

because you are admittedly hot

to certain someone’s’ eyes

or apparently single

only a few years beyond me

and the only personal thing even

**the internet***

could dig up about you then

was that you were an ambassador for

**the starving children of the world**

Scandal-less!!!

NOW you had my attention.

As an entertainer. As a decent human being.

And I had coincidentally happened to notice

that you might be an eligible bachelor in real life.

Not that it mattered or anything.

Not that I could ultimately afford the time or money

to see your movie in theaters right then anyway.

But that was all for the better, you might say.

When I borrowed it later from the library,

watched it all the way through,

(“intriguingly disappointing” by my review)

and delved in the special features

as I always do

there was you

geeking out over the crazy craftsmanship of the sets

delighting in every tiny detail

of the designers’ elaborately actualized vision

(are they hiring, can I get in on this too?)

it overwhelmed you with joy

the way it would me

and I knew

if only I knew you

and if only you knew me too

that we would be fondest of friends,

and maybe a little bit

- dare I say -

I could even have fallen for you.

But that would be

much too silly of me.

So I’m sure that it mustn’t be true.

Though the next time,

I took myself out to a day at the cinema

and a small popcorn I could barely afford for

the limited-release sci-fi dystopian film based on a novel

that was just too indie to hit mainstream theaters

(showing at that small spot downtown)

(so great to be a New Yorker)

in which you ate your own dog to survive.

And thought: That sure took a dark turn,

but this is certainly my kind of guy,

daring to be in a movie like this.

As an added bonus you were shirtless,

for one scene at least,

not that I expected eye-candy

in these terribly trying times

while the world --

or at least that particular skyscraper

-- was ending in mayhem.

Pretty sure you survived it all.

But what I do recall

is that it was part of a film festival,

and the program book said

the REAL you had graced the premiere.

I'd thought of you as far across oceans,

but once, you were actually here???

Missed this chance already

and surely tickets were pricey

but it made me wonder

if I had sought out these gigs

as I often do

that help pay the bills while

adding to,

feeding from, reveling in

the excitement of entertainment

dressed in black

behind the scenes

greeting guests at the door

would I have

coincidentally

had the opportunity

to say hello?

Well, where else do you go?

I read about the year you hilariously

showed up to Cali's comic-con in character

and ranted across the stage.

I'd gone a different year.

I watched the video you showed up

on the news, in character again

to do some town's weather report.

Your grin is everything.

And oh yes is that my kind of silly.

And I learned, surprisingly,

that you're every lady's cup of tea.

A real Disn-y Prince, they say!

Since when???

The time you gouged out an eye,

slept with your sister,

it's as if... Prince Eric ate his own dog!

All this time,

I mostly came to like you

because you lacked cliché!

But indeed, you are nothing but sweet

every time you meet the press,

showing care to your fans,

undeniably endearing.

Ok I get it.

But then I refuse.

I will not join the hoard of fans.

We are colleagues in the industry,

and comic-cons are both our scenes.

I discovered one of my favorites in Philly

where I wander for drawing and networking

was expecting a visit from you and your hero pals.

Imagine that!

I usually sketch the speakers who talk about making comics,

or interesting behind-the-scenes stories of the entertainment world

that you all'd legitimately have, so it's no stretch to say

I'd be going there anyway

and if I drew the whole group of you

as a professional artist

obviously NOT a fan

and tagged everyone in the room

on our social media accounts

this could actually be

quite beneficial professionally

to potentially be followed

by any of these

celebrities.

And we'd have been within actual eyesight of each other.

But alas, my friend didn't get back to me about a place to say,

and I was $100 short for a ticket. Brilliant plans were foiled.

Until next time, someday...?

...

Epilogue:

You eventually dated a scandal-magnet

and I was so disappointed in your choices

(so much for being scandal-free)

that I almost gave up hope on you entirely.

But she always sings about her lousy exes

and the only beef she seemed to have with you

was that you bored her more than

the next man on her ongoing list

so it sounds like you’re still the same

chivalrous man/human/celebrity who

I’ll-never-admit-to-anything-like-loveishness-with

cuz-it-cant-be-when-you-havent-met---quite yet

but-I-still-think-it-would-be-cool-to-cross-paths-someday

lets-sit-next-to-each-other-when-we-both-win-oscars

and have a good laugh about it together.

(Until then, I'll chuckle at the times

you were in my city again for Broadway,

the tabloids caught you in the park

and commented on your jogging gear

as if you were wearing a designer suit.)

(And when we WERE in the same room,

only a few dozen feet from where I stood,

but you were hidden away behind the

convention's special-people curtains

with unfortunately not even a glimpse

so I still don't get the satisfaction to say

we'd ever actually seen each other at all that day.)

Yet.