Jammed Packed Crammed into my heart

Dark hair, dark eyes, brooding, head tilts when talking, eyes twinkle, yet they also are seen through a constant squint, a constant slight sucking on the bottom lip whilst licking both constantly. "is he wanting to kiss me? is this just something he does?" you keep them guessing. Your looks come up from a bowed head--as if you are peering--not sure if you are wanting to be seen. you are distinctive, you are tender--slow...soft and hard at the same time. you aren't "romantic" but you will dance in the kitchen, you will notice the moon in relation to the sears tower, you appreciate skylines and take notice of the lines of a woman. You bring our song to me in a frame. Then there is what you can't help. the women of your past are haunted. no other man seems to measure up. Women go into therapy. They create a world in which you don't measure up to your memory. Good thing we aren't dating, I'd break the pattern you have going.
You are private, yet at times extroverted--that's alluring. You read, you think, you work until late hours--causing you to be elusive and hard to get a hold of. Your work is known to be challenging, so you can always blame it for not getting back to people. You aren't flashy...but you are stylish. You are known not to rsvp--no one knows whether to expect you or not. There are few people in your life...few that you hold close--this makes you in demand to those who want to get to know you. Shows you are selective--that you spend time watching and learning. You are cautious with your emotions and actions. Things are not given without thought--women feel chosen. All this adds to your mystique. Nothing I write here will give it away. Everyone knows you or knows a you. You are a friend that girls can't decide whether to introduce to their other friends or keep for themselves. But you won't allow yourself to be kept. You break the hearts you created beats for. Your own heart stopped beating--and you still live. Something wasn't done with you. It's the kindness and laughter. It's the heat you create. It's the apathy you can convey--it may mean nothing...or it may mean everything. Girls stand out in the street for you. They peer into the windows where you live. They call just to hear your voice on the phone. I used to leave messages on your voicemail--long messages just to talk to you because I couldn't deal with comments you might make during my monologues. You have tattoos that mean something to you and nothing to others. Your back, your arm, your ankles. They say nothing about you. You love the music that now seduces me when I hear it. John Coltrane makes me weak. The Wolf plays and I still cry. A bottle of red, a bottle of white makes me drunk. Coldplay makes me sway.

You're no one I've ever dated. You're every guy I've dated.