Joe knew he was in deep trouble as soon as his fingers touched the page he was about to put into the typewriter. He had let this little boy crush get out of hand and now he found himself writing about You.

As he wrote, he read the words back to him in his mind: Trying to contain my feelings for You has been like trying to hold the sun in my hands. It can't be done, neither You in all your yearning and gentle ways nor my love for them can be contained. It simply can't be done, You are a bird with broken wings, broken by the world we live in and I will fix them. I would give my all to see you smile at me

He paused, his mind taking him back to all the times he had been in your apartment. He wouldn't call it stalking, he'd call it getting to know You before the two of you would meet. He would enter through a window and walk around, observing your living space, fantasizing about living there with You. Having a toothbrush in your bathroom, cooking for you in the kitchen, holding You in bed.

He had read most of the books You owned and your taste in literature had him swooning even harder.

It was all so close yet so far away, even as he stood by your bedside deep into the night, watching You sleep peacefully in your bed. You were a deep sleeper and he had gone as far as to caress your face with feather light touches to soothe the ache inside him.

His fingers moved on the typewriter again: As I caress your face, your soft skin seems to melt away all my worries. I feel as though we could be happy together, live a peaceful life, undisturbed by all the cruelty of the world. You open your eyes, and I don't pull away, seeing You smile at me through your fatigue is a divine gift bestowed upon me. My hands caress down your neck, feeling your pulse, it jolts me into full awareness, makes me feel more alive than I've ever felt. Your collarbone, down to the first button of your shirt. As I undo it all my longing hits me like sunlight in the early mornings and I keep going until I push the shirt off your shoulders, pressing a kiss to them I can envision my rewards as soon as I remove the rest of the clothes keeping all of You from Me.

"Fuck..." He sighed quietly, his Thoughts going wild as he takes the page out of the typewriter and puts it into a box reserved for his writing. Until he had you, his writing was banished into that little box for his eyes only. On paper he was free to fantasize, dream and hope. His mind was imagining the rest of the scene which took a quick and rather erotic turn. Out of all the things I expected to write, erotic poetry was the last on my list he thought I mean we barely sell romance books at Moonies. He was sitting in his office at his Bookshop Moonies when he heard the doorbell chime. Looking up he felt his heart stop as his eyes settled on You.

He left his office and went to the register Be cool, Joe. It's not like you write fiction about {{user}} five seconds ago he thought.

"Hi, welcome to Moonies, can I help you?" He asked as you were close enough.