I'm so scared that the way that I feel is written all over my face
When you walk into the room, I wanna find a hiding place



It's Monday night, and I'm backstage, sitting on the equipment trunk, which has come to be known as my spot. No one talks to me, because right now, they don't think I'm me - I'm 'him'. So I sit here and brood away, as he would do. There is a buzz, an air of electricity back here as everyone awaits the arrival of the ultimate legend. I see the others walking - or in the case of some people, bouncing - around, whispering. Someone says that they saw him earlier, others say he's on his way. I say I want to melt into the wall and pretend I'm not here. I don't want them to know the butterflies that have made my innards their resting place. I don't want them to know the way my inner being is quaking, wanting more than just a glimpse at the man himself. We used to laugh, we used to hug the way that all friends do
But, now, a smile and a touch of your hand just makes me come unglued

Then I see him. The man, the myth, the legend, the icon - the showstoppa. I know he has made my heart stop. His dark blonde hair hanging above his shoulders, perfect waves cascading across his neck, a place I have dreamed of making my mark many times. His smile widens when he sees me, as he saunters over to lean against the trunk. He says hello and I nod, saying nothing in return. He makes that face, sort of a contemplative frown, tilting his head to the side and nodding slowly. I know he thinks I'm acting, staying in character for the benefit of the others. Truth is, I'm scared as hell that my voice would fail me should I open my mouth to speak. After a few minutes, he turns and walks away, a promise of talking later escaping his lips as he disappears.

Such a contradiction - do I lie or tell the truth?
Is it fact or fiction? Oh, the way I feel for you
It's so complicated - I'm so frustrated

I tell myself it's no big deal that he has gone. I tell myself that this moment is enough for me, to just be able to gaze into his eyes is power enough to sustain me for a lifetime. Yet I know this is a lie. I want to jump from my perch and chase after him, to wrap my arms around him and hold on forever, to make him mine, to make myself his property. I want to feel his lips against my skin, burning me with his passion. I want…him. But, he will never know my desire.

I wanna hold you close, I wanna push you away
I wanna make you go, I wanna make you stay
Should I say it? Should I tell you how I feel?
Oh, I want you to know - but, then again, I don't
It's so complicated

It's time. I see him standing near the curtain, bouncing slightly. His friends are gathered around him, waiting as he is to hear the opening chords of the music that will announce his arrival - his return. Slowly, I slide off the trunk, unnoticed, and make my way further into the back of the arena. I find a monitor with no one around it and I stand, hands folded across my chest, waiting. I hear the booming voice announcing his arrival, followed by the strain of music which has caused more than one female to go weak in the knees, and I feel my strength wavering right along with theirs. He prances down the ramp and enters the ring amidst the screams of thousands of fans. I want to scream along with them, shout my words of love. I look at the screen and want to run, far away, and hide from this feeling.

Just when I think I'm under control, I think I've finally got a grip
Another friend tells me that my name is always on your lips

I watch until he's gone from the screen, posing long after the cameras have stopped, giving the fans everything they crave. But, what about me? What about my craving? I walk toward the dressing room and hear a voice behind me. Turning, I see Jeff standing there, telling me that he had been looking for me. Him. The object of my desire, searching for me, my name crossing his lips. I nod and walk away, using every ounce of strength I possess to keep from running and hiding. I enter a room and close the door behind me, leaning against it, panting as if I had been chased by the devil himself. I want to find him, to grab him and crush his body to mine, to consume and be consumed. I conclude that I am losing my mind.

They say I'm more than just a friend, they say I must be blind
I admit that I've seen you watch me from the corner of your eye

Later, I sit alone in a corner of the hotel bar, watching the celebration unfold across the room. He's holding court, reminiscing with the old buddies, and regaling the younger set with tales of antics no mortal man could have accomplished. And he is no mere mortal - he is a demigod, the standard by which they all measure themselves. He's a legend, in his own mind, and the minds of countless others. I watch everyone fawn over him, wanting to hold his attention for a brief second, just so they can say that, for a moment, they were the center of his world. I see him glance at me and a frown threatens to mar his perfect face. I don't know the thing that has caused his brief unhappiness, but I vow to find the source and remove it from the face of the earth.

Oh, it's so confusing - yeah, I should just confess
But think of what I'd be losing if your answer wasn't yes

As I watch him from hooded eyes, I notice one of his followers break away and walk toward me. Justin approaches the table and stops, staring down at me, hands on his hips. In his typical smart ass fashion, he says, "you might want to take a picture, it'll last longer." I roll my eyes at him, indicating that I am unaware of that which he speaks. He laughs at me, shaking his bald head, before he leans down to speak again. "For someone who's so smart," he says, "you sure are stupid." I start to protest, then realize it will do me no good. Because, even though I will NEVER tell him, he's right. I am an idiot. He laughs at me again before turning to walk away. I try to interpret that laugh - does he think I'm being a fool, lusting after something so unattainable that, should I try to pursue it, I will fall flat on my face, and have to live the rest of my life in ridicule?

It's so complicated - I'm so frustrated
I wanna hold you close, I wanna push you away
I wanna make you go, I wanna make you stay

Or perhaps he's privy to some secret, something that tells him should I make a move, should I profess my undying devotion, that the feeling would be returned? How many drinks have I had since I sat down at this table? It's ridiculous. Why should he even give me the time of day? There are those who say he's washed up, past his prime. If that's the truth, then I am a dinosaur, plodding along the earth, waiting for some natural disaster to preserve the fossil that I am. I want to bask in his beauty, yet I want to hide from everything pure. I want to wake up in the morning and gaze upon that face, yet I want to run and hide and banish the memory of him from my brain forever.

Should I say it? Should I tell you how I feel?
Oh, I want you to know - but, then again, I don't
It's so complicated

I am so lost in my thoughts, awaiting a winner in the internal war I am waging between head and heart, that I do not see him approach the table. I am so wrapped up in the fantasy that is him that I do not notice he has taken a seat next to me. I am unaware of anything but the fantasy in my head that I do not realize he's right there beside me until he reaches out and places a hand on my arm. I jerk myself away from my thoughts and immediately feel every ounce of energy, every breath, everything that is me rush from my body and desert me, leaving me empty, hollow. Until he speaks. "Is this a private party, or can anybody come?" My heart literally skips a beat. He has acknowledged my existence, meager as it is in his presence. "It's a free country," I hear myself reply, making a note to kick myself in the ass later for being so impudent. He laughs and my whole world melts away. I look at a point somewhere on his left cheek, afraid to look into his eyes, afraid that he will know what I am thinking, feeling, wanting, needing.

I hate it, cause I've waited so long for someone like you
Oh, should I say it? Should I tell you how I feel?
Oh, I want you to know - but, then again, I don't

"Haven't seen you in a while," he says. "You look good." I want to tell him that I have missed seeing him, but I can't. My tongue has suddenly decided to develop a case of paralysis. His fingers are on the move again, reaching out to toy with one of my braids, and my breath catches in my throat. He stares until I have no choice but to look into his eyes. He smiles as we make contact and I wonder what he's thinking. Suddenly, a line from the infamous poem pops into my head: And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming. I wonder what his dream is. I watch in complete awe as he leans forward and places his lips to my temple. The gesture is so pure, so innocent, and yet so seductive that I wonder if it really happened, or is this some teasing dream I have conjured up in my mind. His lips press against my flesh again, this time near my jaw, and I decide I don't care if it's real. I pull back and search his eyes, then realize that it doesn't matter. Consequences be damned, I think as I press my lips to his and exchange my sanity for a moment of pleasure. He is pressing back against my lips and I feel his hand drop down and take mine. He stands, pulling me along with him, leading me out of the bar, into the elevator, and upstairs to his room. I want to tell him how long I have worshipped him, adored him, lusted for this moment. But, I find no words, and am compelled to submit to his every whim, every wish, every desire. My love for him is so simple, yet so complex. And now, watching as he removes every object standing between us and blissful pleasure, I realize that he feels the same. Ah, life is good. Quoth the Raven…

It's so complicated