Daydreaming of a romantic soul

I am one who likes daydreaming. I find strange people who don't daydream, even when it's a trivial thing like a planned meeting with somebody or a football match. Maybe they don't call it daydream.
Every second of my day is a mental dream I'm building, frame after frame, carefully positioning the elements, from the number of clouds in the sky to the music played, to the clothes worn and the drinks taken. It feels so real when I get back to this dimension, and I realise I've blushed, and am even slightly sweating, because when I'm embarrassed or nervous my face blushes and my heart jumps like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.
Up to a few years ago, daydreaming meant a shelter while I was going to work by bus, a crowded bus, surrounded by foreign faces, children, wet umbrellas and noisy traffic; a shelter as I was watching something on tv I wasn't interested in, but would watch just to be in the company of my friends who were talking about boyfriends and discussing relationships and would therefore cut me off the conversation, for what could I say about it, since I was a hopeless one, in love with somebody who didn't want me?; it was a place to hide when my parents and my brother screamed, a silent yellow room for all the times I needed to know that things would be all right, that everything would sort out somehow, that my choices were ok and I was doing fine.
Then, the year of depression and anti-depressive, not a day without crying for no reason, without waking four times per night, heart over-beating, and in the morning, the lack of strength and life like vanished from my veins. The year of suicidal thoughts, when I couldn't find the meaning of anything, I felt useless and meaningless too, sunk in a narrow suffocating black pit. My mind was blindfolded and tightly tied up, it couldn't move; as a matter of fact, I cannot recall a single day of dreaming, there were only anguishing night dreams in-between the wakes.
God, what a bad year. My breath stops when I think of it.
A year later, for last year this time I was still on the daily-cry style, my emotions are not yet under control, I am more tense and nervous, and easily shaken by things: I have said this before, it all depends on my inner lies, on pretending that this job is good for me when it isn't, on pretending that I'm fine by myself and then strangling my jealousy when I see my friends getting together, one by one, and I alone, the annoying feeling of the third wheel.
I do like to daydream about my boyfriend, whoever he may be.
When I was the hopeless-one-in-love-with-somebody-who-didn't-want-me, and who later on broke my heart (and when I think of him I cannot but think, why didn't he want me? I saw a picture taken a few weeks ago, and we are in the same frame, and we have the same expression! It's difficult to explain, but what I may mean is that we would have been a good couple, and he never gave me a choice), HE was the object of my mental movies, although I never went farther than the moment when we actually began our relationship. I guess I wasn't ready for the step that comes after the story begins.
After HIM, I didn't fall in love again.
Oh, yes, I've had a few crushes, mostly prompted by loneliness, or by the fact that I was living by myself and far from my friends, but love? The feeling that made my stomach ache from cramps, and blush at the thought of somebody who had suddenly become special, the pang of jealousy at the sight of somebody else with him, the daydream of a kiss or a life together. No, that never happened again.
Sometimes I miss that feeling. I once told Liz that being in love makes me feel complete. If I could love and be lucky enough as to be loved back, then I would also be serene, for once in my life. I guess it is that perfect state of being that happens to one in a thousand, or so. But I have sidetracked.
Daydreaming now has become a habit on the treadmill when I run for hours and don't want to stop because I'm bored by moving and not going anywhere. Daydreaming is a stage where I'm playing and singing in front of friends and strangers without blushing, it's a city I live in without fearing to go out at night, it's a job that makes me wake up with a smile on my face and energy streaming in my veins; it's the stories I've never finished, half scribbled in my notebooks, sleeping under sport magazines and lists and books, put aside in some dusty drawer of my mind.
It's a lot of love waiting for me, a faceless figure behind a corner of the street, who's waiting to receive all the love that I've hidden inside, the love I've kept aside when I realised that it's too painful to love when all you get back is a crashed heart and endless nights spent watching at the darkness spread in my room, listening to the silence and thinking of all the couples who are sleeping together, now.
I am in a melancholic mood today. It must be that I feel I'm cheating on me and I shouldn't do it.
I've told a friend that I have a crush on a guy. He really is cool, his smile is nice, his touch is warm; I even like his voice, which is something I'm always very critical about (only one person has got THE nicest voice, and that's you, David. Well...apart from Kaifa from "Jesus Christ Superstar"..I am fascinated by deep voices). Anyway, I saw him last night, and for a split second I thought that I should have done something, said something. How do you ask somebody out, these days? When it's only the second time you've seen him? When you're so shy that the thought of saying hello is almost unbearable and gives you cramps?
So here's what I thought: the day of music. Which is that day when the bands of the country will play, sort of, everywhere to inform people about the lack of a law that protects and helps city bands to survive. Not a complicated matter, or anything that can save the world, but it's important.
So, the idea is, at the band we are going to prepare some leaflets to take around, pubs, shops, all that jazz, to have more people come and sign up for this petition: I could take some of these leaflets to the gym and leave them there and tell them about it, when he is present of course, so to virtually invite him to come and see us, if only to sign up, and promise a large cappuccino if he does. See if he takes my hint, you never know.
I think this is quite childish.
One person told me that he liked me, once. I was eating a slice of chocolate cake in a pub and he said "you know I like you".
Then he went off with my housemate's friend, for a silly sex relationship.
One of my best friends told me that what I should do is to basically "offer" myself straight away. And I thought, cool, I think next time I fancy somebody I will just do like in the song and go "I've noticed you around: I find you very attractive...Would you go to bed with me?"...
Yeah, right.
There is no place for romantic souls nowadays, it seems.
Maybe I should just go on and daydream about that kiss.