Perfect - almost

As I make my way through the world - blunder through it, it seems sometimes - I come across a lot of boys. I described them somewhere, I can't remember whether it was in this blog or in an unpublished story, as 'ghosts', ghostly in the sense that they pass in and out of my life in fleeting seconds, or, at most, minutes, then are gone forever, leaving nothing behind, hardly even a memory, in most cases. Particularly in a place like London, it's very unlikely that you'll ever see the same stranger twice, so there's no realistic expectation of another encounter. Just occasionally, though, one of the 'ghosts' becomes far more substantial, and leaves his mark on my psyche, and one such incident happened on my way to work at lunchtime today. In terms of time, the conjunction lasted no longer than many another - ten minutes, if that. A boy was waiting on the platform, two stations before my destination, and, as soon as I saw him while the train was coming to a standstill, my immediate reaction was 'wow'. He was 13, give or take, tall for his age, but otherwise entirely boyish in appearance, and what an appearance. He had those looks for which I've never been able to find the right adjective - 'handsome' isn't a strong enough word, 'beautiful' too feminine, 'pretty' too juvenile - but, whatever word might be used, looks that were all boy, that only very few are lucky enough to possess, looks that mark their possessor as special, at least to me. To my delight, he joined my carriage, and sat only a couple of seats in front of me, although I could see little more than the back of his head and a sliver of his reflection in the window he was sitting beside. When he got off of the train at the same station as me, and I followed him towards the station exit, he didn't quite have the same almost feline grace and fluidity of movement that, say, DBJ had at the same age, but that hardly detracted from the overall impression that here was the epitome of everything I desire the most.
So why, then, is that nagging adverb in the post title? For one reason only, and one that brought tears to my eyes, just about held in check by my being in a very public place, after our paths had diverged outside the station, his to the bus stop, mine to the supermarket - that for all his perfection, probably particularly because of his perfection, there are no conceivable circumstances under which he could ever be my boy, even if our 'meeting' was to be repeated every day for the foreseeable future. Just like DBJ could never have been my boy, no matter how much I loved him. Forever fated to be like the child with their nose pressed against the toyshop window, outside looking in.

Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B