Sometimes fantasy is better than reality. The illusion and mystique of a person is whatever you want it to be when you’re just an observer from afar. I’m writing this at 1:35 in the morning because I can’t sleep, can’t stop thinking about the casual way his body moves when he’s pacing back and forth in between sets. Or the way his long sleeved henley sits against his body, hiding toned arms and hitting just above the hips, revealing the tiniest peak of a happy trail when he stretches. Or the way his eyes rise to meet mine, flittering to find my gaze even when we’re on opposite ends of the room. I can’t tell if our wordless interactions are simply coincidences, or if they’re deliberate, and it’s driving me crazy. Maybe he’s subconsciously seeking me out, lifting right next to me every time, or maybe we just have the same routines. When you go to the gym at the same time every day, you start to recognize the regulars around you, but yet with him it feels different- like we’re purposefully finding each other every time on the gym floor.