"I like you, wait no, I love you."
"7 months ago. Maybe ever since that time I was curious of what's inside your head, and keep on being left amazed every time you spill your thoughts to me. You have such a beautiful mind. I can never get tired of listening to you voicing your thoughts."
"Why do I have a beautiful mind?"
"You're not afraid of talking about the future and your dreams, and you make me startled with how sure you are of what you're capable of. You know you have a strong presence and potential, and you're confident enough to take advantage of it. You won't hesitate to tell me how you feel, and honestly, I feel like whatever you say or talk about feels very close to home, because you comfort me with words of reassurance."
"Why else? Is there any other reason?"
"You are honest. I can be honest with you, too. You are caring. I love it when you just know that I had a bad day, and ask me to talk about it. You make me feel better. You stroke through my hair with your dainty fingers and you give me smiles you never give anyone else. You make me feel things that I have never felt before, and I am excited and I feel loved when I'm with you. You are also very, very beautiful. Very, very gorgeous. You are one hell of an amazing human and I love you very much."
"There's more and I can literally write a book filled with reasons to love you, but that's for another day."
Once upon a time, you gave me your heart. Wrapped in light pink, and blotches of dark ink, you wrote that you wanted me to keep it. I clutched your heart into my chest -
I didn't ever want to let go. I didn't ever want to return it.
But I saw that you were now giving pieces of yourself to other people - laughing and whispering forbidden promises, then you let me fall out of your list of priorities. I no longer am able to feel what you feel. I no longer can feel the happiness and will. You let me there alone, standing still.
So I walked up to you in my worn out shoes that used to be filled with pride, and I wrapped your heart in transparent paper. Let other people see the light pink that flows every time your heart beats, let them know how beautiful it is.
I return your heart to its respectful owner.
You ask, "why?"
I say, "I don't deserve it."
your eyes bore into mine and I swear I can do this all day long.
"are you asleep?"
"I am, inside your heart."
your eyes with black irises, the gleaming happiness that can be seen inside them. you couldn't express yourself with words too well, but when I'm looking at you like this, I know you don't have to. I can read you all too well like this.
"are you sleepy?"
"I am not, not when the sound of my heartbeat is louder than silence in this moment."
you stare with hollowness, half lidded eyes that speak so much: I love you, I miss you, I want you, I need you -
"are you asleep?"
"yes. I'm full of you."
"When you are loved by an artist, you are immortal," I paint the tips of your fingers with deep blue, and the ocean forms with a movement of your hand. Pretty, so very endlessly pretty. You make the elements of earth become even more endearing.
"You live in their every masterpiece, live in their every breath," I draw finishing touches on the edges of your mouth - that I want to kiss every moment - and shadows of despair form in the words that you let out. But they sound pretty, so very endlessly pretty. You make every word in the dictionary become even more meaningful.
"And when you hurt them, you live in their memories forever." I sew words into your skin and you wince in pain but you don't stop me.
Thank you for making this easier for me.
Untouched, pure and translucent derma that I long to touch.
Let me trace the freckles on your cheeks, felt tip pen colors fade into your porcelain skin. The stars can't shine together with you, they're too afraid. They know they're fake, but you, you are the purest in nighttime.
Even when I say this, you complain how you're too pale, but baby, barbie dolls are dying to be you. Although i know you don't want to be compared with barbie dolls, let's just laugh at that sad reality everyone seems to be facing. Don't be one of them.
Kiss yourself, praise yourself for the unholy and sinful wanting of mine for you.
Want to touch you, mark you - felt tip pen colors melting into your white, white, white but flawed skin. Want to trace constellations on your cheeks, on the back of your hand - let me hold you.
"I'm not beautiful," porcelain skinned boy with insecurities measured bigger than his fading faith in humanity - i love you.
— The End —