Sometimes you take my bus. Sometimes I see you walking around North End. You have a mustache and a bowtie. You’re probably an artist. If you aren’t, you must be art incarnate. Your eyes are golden, and the other day, on Windsor, they accidentally met mine. Keep being perfect, mysterious boy. I’m sure your smile lights up more lives than just mine. —Walking the fine line between Hopeless Romantic and Weirdo, leaning hard toward Weirdo
This article appears in Feb 21-27, 2013.