The kind of boy who is kind to everyone but himself
The kind of boy who's heart is just as fragile as you thought yours was before he claimed love upon every piece of ground you trailed footprints on
The kind of boy who will give you a hand even if your fingertips are lit with blazing fires to the touch
The kind of boy who will tuck your insecurities into bed and politely make certain they'll never wake up again
The kind of boy who will blow you glass figurines with only his eyes of everytime you smiled at him; even if all you blew him were shapeless balloons with all of your two hands
The kind of boy who will love every ounce of life in you even if you are the only reason of turmoil in his
The kind of boy who would rather see you take a machete to his neck than a razor to your already broken enough wrist
The kind of boy who is mine.

A boy, but more like everything in the galaxy excluding ordinary through the eyes of her and she thought he should be stared down congruently through everyone else's eyes too with his clever hands rendering sweet enough to drown you with the softest of all touches. But she crossed her heart and knelt on her knees every night that no one blinked a contriving eye at all the particulars that made him the fantasy he was; the downward flick on the right side of his honey colored mane, the lonely dimple that rested on the left side of his cheek that only came to life when you kissed him or told him how colorful the fireworks were when your hands accidentally touched; his opposing colored eyes that wouldn't be noticed by anyone who didn't thrive to admire every particle of his being, eyes that should cost a million bucks and the freshest breath of air ever exhaled just to be looked into once. He deserved the worlds audience of eyes, but she's glad no one looked at him but her because if they had everyone would want his every last piece and he would be so viciously gone and she's oh so greedy and needs his every last part; the broken ones, the faded, the pieces that could never balance quite right without delicately falling apart. He was a matchbox who never ceased to ignite more than just sparks.