You know nothing of me,
I do not exist.
Thousands know of you,
But, like me, do not know you.
When I first saw you,
I looked twice and liked what I saw.
And what little I later found out about you,
I liked even more.
So far away, you seem untouchable,
Though I sense that you are not.
One of the many hundred "special,"
But you seem more "normal."
The one of the many hundred,
That I'd like to know the most.
But are you as you seem?
Like a child staring in awe,
At a gift wrapped in beautiful paper,
And wondering what is inside.
Can I know you?
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