Often, if one says the C-word aloud, it is likely to be downplayed by an audience as a frivolous, overly saccharine thing. I’d imagine how my mouth would part in a way that would make them both want and need to kiss me in the middle of a sentence. Ones that inspired me to imagine the conversations I would have, given the opportunity – blissfully ignorant to the impossibility of meeting someone who only exists in televisual form, and to the fact that their mercurial presence alone would render me mute. I’ve become re-obsessed of late with these soppy little infatuations that carried such monumental weight during adolescence. This was an indulgence fully facilitated by the distance between myself and them. (“A lot of range here, Em…” according to one friend.) “Objects” being the operative word. The art student who never spoke to anyone.Ībove is a – by no means exhaustive – list of some objects of my teenage affections. The Beast before he turned into The Prince. The sort-of-famous musician who wrote songs for a very famous Hollywood movie that one time. I’d imagine the conversations I would have given the opportunity.

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