He was as sad as a flower without color-- Terribly drained, couldn’t be saved without another. Inside, he felt as if he was dying. On the outside, he was crying.
But even the tears of a pale boy couldn’t strain the feelings I had for him. And although his hair needed a trim, With eyes as dark as the bottom of the sea, He was still beautiful to me.
His weary talk, his slow walk, The way he would never mock a person so different. Oh, his heart was so vibrant.
You see, his soul was brighter than light. But in his head, he emerged a fight with himself. Indulged with thoughts of guilt.
But he didn’t deserve that hell. And of course, only I knew that well. He didn’t think he was worth it. But to me, he was perfect.