i loved everything about him. i loved his ears because they were too big for his head. and his head had bright tufts of russled ginger hair. the freckles under his blue eyes that frame his nose and pepper his cheeks. the flow softly down his neck across his chest shoulders back arms. beautiful.
i love how awkward he is. he tries so hard to impress me to impress them to impress himself. and hes so silly when he dribbles the ball and shoots and maybe he scored i dont know because im not watching the ball and i never was. he thinks hes amazing and maybe he is but i dont notice because all i see is his goofy grin and his too-long limbs and the sheer joy he breathes. beautiful.
‘i dont wanna die without any scars’ he says quoting that fight club movie we watched a dozen times. movies, i remember. he loved movies. he read a lot quoted a lot too. ‘you pretty little fool’ he whispers. i laugh because i was eleventh grade once and i read gatsby too just like he did just like you. i'd memorized his favorites the poems songs and lines. i could quote them because he loved the music that filtered the words. and he called it beautiful.
i have memorized the fabric of you. i have tasted your sting your wine your honey and i still want crave yearn for more. his lips twitched in that clark gable way and i wish that he knew how much i mean it when i say ‘youre beautiful’.