"drink up baby, look at the stars"

It's pouring rain in Los Angeles tonight after an afternoon of intense anticipation. The paper lanterns and origami birds in the trees have begun to bleed their painted on color and the candles are making that hissing noise I love.  It's a mess and everyone has decided to run inside or back to their cars. 
You are still and looking at me, and somehow in the melee I have caught you. Why hadn't I noticed you before?  I grab my friends abandoned cigarettes (I always crave a cigarette when something seems french, cinematic, or too big) and although the filter is  damp, it lights. You are smirking and I smile back,  but I quickly look away and exhale (I like being watched when I am happy). I am hearing Elliott Smith songs in my head and my heartbeat quickens, wishing I would rust and get frozen in this heartbreakingly perfect moment rather than ruin this with awkward introductions, explanations and nervous laughter. You look as if you are about to say something and instead of letting you, I run after my friends without looking back. 
I don't live here, I don't even know if you are gay, and I don't want to stare at my phone wondering if you will call while I am still in town.  As much as I want  to fall in love in the pouring rain, I no longer believe you can make something work just because you want it to. The ghosts of everyone I have ever loved still float around me.