I saw you up there, singin away Your voice was top, hittin those notes Your eyes graced

mine as you looked about the crowd I felt my eyes widen, my heart skip a few beats Katy Perrys Teenage Dream comes to mind, and funnily enough I didnt expect these feelings, saturated in adolescence, to still exist well after 19. Lets call them residual, or delayed? Your voice was like nothing Id heard, despite the talk of he sounds like or hes a cross between. It was apparent that you love what you do When asked the most boring, I mean, redundant of questions, you were fun and fresh, quite endearing Watching someone from a little square box on your computer does nothing to prepare you for the part that comes when the confinement of those tiny walls vanishes, and the person is in front of you. Magic does exist. You looked smart in black, taller than I had perceived. Yeah, so I guess I met you, but lets be honest, that wasnt much of a meet Your arms were out, waiting I sort of just starred at them for an infinite second, believing that they were for someone else His limbs should have welcomed a bubbly chick that wasnt afraid to speak freely, despite the rush that she felt was being enforced His limbs should have wrapped around a girl that told him how his music was like, sooooo fuckin cool dude, that when the infectious beat for Vegas Girl comes on, she cant help but dance, that he really should have serenaded us with more than just 4 songs, that when she hears Pictures, everything else around her slowly melts, melts away And finally, his eyes should have made contact with a girl that exuberated respect, and a self-confidence that would have allowed her to say Ill be seeing more of you around, Conor, I know it. Preferably, a radiant smile would have followed that statement. Instead, he received a girl that shakily piped I love the British in a tone that can only be described as the desperate kind that asks, please like my dumb joke that wasnt really a joke. Instead, he posed with a girl that saw the cameras in a blurred mirage of blacks and flashes, and accompanied thoughts of holy heck what the fuck is going on oh my god Im touching him wow hes here. Queue in another stream of profanities. Instead, he heard a girl squeak Thanks for coming, then quickly dash off as shes handed flyers and directed out toleave. So this is what happens when you meet someone you admire? Do idealistic encounters take place in a parallel universe? It doesnt make sense that one should literally clam up when trying to talk to a person they feel connected too, but it happens all the time. Sweet lord Jesus, whyyyyy. Science answers the what and the how, rarely ever the why.

Paradoxes came to life, as everything seemed heavy and light at the same time. Is that what they refer to as a rush? Hate that god forsaken word. Rushhhhh. And she shouldnt have felt rushed, because this was a moment that meant so much to her. When else was this opportunity going to come around? At times, afraid as she was to admit it, she relied on his music more than she relied on friends, or even family. Call her crazy, call her a mayniac, but when her heart was too heavy, and the world seemed impossible, music was always the savior, the cure. Always. But, lets rewind. Before reaching the exit, this girl looked back. She was greeted by the blues of oceans, artfully quantified into the structures of eyes. That quick glance, quick! A look back, those eyes, a slight smirk. Whoa, a different kind of rush. This one she liked. Never had she felt more present, more calm. Who would have thought that that could happen, that shed literally turn around, open the eyes of her eyes, and look at him. Without realizing it, she became the song. So at the end of what seemed like nothing, and everything, I can say with respect and self-confidence, that I saw Conor Maynard, and he saw me.