There is a woman I have seen, only in pictures - still or moving. She is the actress Marion Cotillard.
Beautiful, she has a fabulous figure, impeccable style, Oscar-winning talent and that French accent. Although Hollywood doesn't exactly have room for ugly women, when Marion Cotillard is on screen, I never seem to be able to tear my eyes away from her face.
I have never met her, but something about her smile, her eyes, makes her beautiful in the way that normally only people you know and care for are.
There is a man who has sat next to or opposite me on the tube several times. I do not know his name; only the stations he lives and works near, the books he reads, that he smells neither like alcohol, B.O. or overpowering perfume but wonderfully clean (I have to assume that I don't smell too bad either, which is why he opts to sit next to a confirmed hygienic).
Beautiful, he is tall and stunningly well dressed; he wears gladiator sandals, checked trousers, glsases, a trench coat, and a fabulous quiff (oh my god, he's a better version of me!). When I'm not absorbed by my book and when no-one standing in between the rows of seats is blocking my 'view', I just can't help stealing stares.
Before I discovered the manifold benefits of sitting in the last carriage, before I began my daily commute, I had never seen him before. We have not exchanged a word. Yet this man has a face which I am attracted to for I feel like I've seen before.
I have a feeling that I may have seen his photo either in a photo from a London blog like Sarah Edwina Rose's. Or maybe even on the Sartorialist.
Yes, he is that beautiful.