It's so depressing, knowing that there are men in the world, and they're like my age, just walking around, being dudes, exuding hotness, looking like Zachary Quinto and Chris Pine. Existing, laughing, making out with people that aren't me.
Fuck you. Fuck you magazines and television and goddamn Star Trek movies. This is torture, and that shit is illegal. Kind of.
I don't even read magazines, but I can feel them rattling on the shelves with their airbrushed pictures and their interviews, where guys are charming and casual and clever, and girls are coy and leggy. Fuck you.
It's going to last months, too. All summer long. Guys riding their bikes all scruffy and glisteny, heavy linked bike chains wrapped around their waists. I don't know why I find that so goddamn attractive. I love watching them eat apples, drinking out of bottles. Laughing. Especially when they're laughing, and they use their whole body as visible, shaking proof. I just like knowing that they're around, as long as they're booming and smirking and undeniably smiling and alive. It's not a look or a style, it's just this elemental, sunny, relaxed, carnal guyness. I want them around me all the time, because making them laugh might just be the greatest thing in the world, and closest I really get.
Gah. Fuck you, spring. You taunting, abstracted, glorious bastard.