Being A Good Secret Fan

It’s been 60 hours since I saw you.

You’re white jacket is so predictable.

With red backpack on your shoulder and a cell phone in your hand.

58 hours since I walked in through the door.

I couldn’t move.

I couldn’t breathe.

I just sat there ‘till my neck’s killing me.

It was 56 hours ago when we came face to face for a good few seconds.

And I’m still flying.

Call me crazy, I wouldn’t care.

You know you’ve got a nice smile.

And it’s been a while since the last time I hear your voice.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t care.

Because I believe I’m just being a good secret fan.