I needed therapy. That's all there was to it. Then again, all fans needed it. I was unconditionally in love with a man I had never met. I knew everything about him, while he had no idea of my existence. To him I was just another face in the crowd; another body to fill a seat in a concert hall. Nothing more, nothing less. I was part of what paid his bills. I was nothing to him, yet he meant so much to me. I was nothing special.

 

 I watched him when he danced, sang, ate, and played. He just smiled, looked at the camera, and went on with his life not wondering who in particular was there to see his every action. 

 

My life goes on like clockwork. As long as I get to see his face at least once, I'll live. Knowing that I'm his fan, and he 'loves' his fans, gives me the love I need from him to get through the day. 

 

I need therapy but I will not get it. I want to keep living in my wonderful fantasy full of his 'love and care'. My life will go on just the same. He will never leave my mind. And when he does, will be the day I can finally be free.