I once met a boy with shoulders that could hold up the world and a few stars across his shoulderblades. He stood high, swear he belonged to trees, with a stare that made every nerve correspond to make me a personal lightning storm (to get a better idea, I used to jump off branches to feel wings I didn't have and his eyes were the leaves I'd see before I crashed to reality). What was reality without the birds beating against my chest when the expanse of my hand covered the thrumming of his heart. If there was a God? If there was a Plan? He would've made him ready to hold my hand, and he was (I'd like to include that he fit me like tides on shorelines).
He was entirely made of stardust and sea glass, jaggedly beautiful, someone shattered him along time ago to throw him to my shore, thank god she did, you were too alluring for me not to admire.
I've never been to the ocean, but the way your hands felt on my back felt like the entire world. (To elaborate, he's earthquakes, forests and the way the moon loves the sea).
Somebody asked me to explain the scientific explanation for infinite and I just whispered his name. He was engulfed in my forever, surrounded by words I whispered about futures we were scared of, with plans we'd propose now and promise to mars they'd work.
You see, I'm not artistic, not in the least, I like the elaborate equations of the brain and how your bones never actually fully mend. But I wrote books of words for this man, every color in my paint set couldn't compare to the way his eyes looked under street lamps or when he first wakes up.
That's what scared me, everything in the world can be drawn, written, solved, but someone forgot to finish the riddle for a boy with shaken leaves for eyes, forgive me, for I have been caught in the labyrinth of this boy.
The only way out, is to stay until stars crash around our ankles.
*Tu sei un mondo tutto da solo.