About a Boy

He loves music. That was the first thing I ever learned about him. Music is everything to him, and it’s kind of sad, because that means I could never be everything to him. Nonetheless, I am happy for him. I love what he loves. I find joy in his joy.

He’s the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.

He’s got these wonderful brown eyes. Some people say brown eyes are ugly, that they’re too common, that they’re nothing special, but there’s something about his that strike me so differently. They’re dark, and I can see my reflection clearly in them. But when I truly focus on what I’m looking at, when I pay attention, I see so much more. I see the innate goodness he has and the beauty of his character.

He’s got these beautiful, thin hands. They’re perfect. I watch them every chance I get. In fact, I am watching them right now. I’m watching the tendons fade in and out of visibility as he moves his fingers. I am utterly awestruck. How I yearn to be touched by those hands, to feel the patterns of his fingertips caressing my rough skin. How I pray every night for those hands to hold mine forevermore.

His lips are plump. They’re really, really pink, and soft, and every kiss feels like an electric shock. It steals my breath. It winds me, like when you land on your stomach and can’t breathe for ten seconds. Sometimes I pull away too early when he kisses me, and I’m afraid he might think I don’t like kissing him. But the truth is, I’m stupid, and I don’t know when to stop, or when to start, in regards to just about anything, and the idea alone of his lips against mine gives me butterflies. In the best way possible, he makes my stomach turn.

Loving him is euphoric.

He reminds me of warm summer nights, hugs from those friends who never hug you, kisses on the forehead. The feeling of loving a boy like him is similar to the feeling you get when you’re listening to your favorite song and singing your heart out, or when you’re laughing with your best friends at something stupid and can’t even stop to catch your breath.

He reminds me of everything good in the world. Butterflies, stars, lights on Christmas trees. The feeling of the sun on your face after you’ve locked yourself in your bedroom for weeks.

A breath of fresh air.

The gentleness he bestows upon me is unreal. I have never felt anything quite as tender as the way he holds me. I have never felt safe and protected, not in the way I do when he’s gingerly wiping the tears from my face.

And now I’m sitting on his bedroom floor, watching him write a song. He looks so, so cute when he’s focused, and all I can think about is how much I adore him. I want to go over there and steal his attention so bad, but I know this is important to him, so I won’t. But God, do I really, really want to.

I’m sleepy. I want to take a nap with him. I want to fall asleep against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat right next to my ear. I want to feel his fingers curled around mine.

I get the feeling that if I ever lose him, I won’t really lose him. He’ll still linger, in everything I do and say, in the music I listen to, in the stories I write, and the people I meet. I will never be free from him. Our bodies, our souls, our very existences, are eternally intertwined, and there is nothing that either of us can do about it. I think… we found our way to each other in our past lives, in this life, and we will in our future lives. No matter what, with every lifetime I am given, I will use it to find my way to him, and him to me.

I’m still sitting on his bedroom floor, and now I’m thinking about sex. Not because I want it, but because I think it is beautiful. In what experience can you come closest to God, if not the merging of two human souls? What is more divine than romantic love shared between two people?

I think every relationship is divine in its own right. The love between you and your parents is uniquely divine. The love between you and your best friend is uniquely divine. But there is something about having a lover that blinds you. It’s easy to lose sight of everything when you become so incredibly entranced by another human being; when you’re acquainted with someone’s deepest, darkest parts, and you love them anyway. When you know just how repulsive a person can be, and you love them wholeheartedly regardless. That’s special, though I don’t think I needed to tell you that. I am simply trying to put my thoughts about this boy into words, but I’m not entirely sure it’s possible. When I look at him, I feel things I could never express, although I will certainly try my best to do so nonetheless.

He just showed me the song he wrote. It sounds really, really cool, and I’m proud of him. I think the world of this boy, really, and I believe he is so incredibly talented. He has so much worth, so much he could give to the world, so much to live for. I love him. He is everything to me, and I could never, in a million lifetimes, let him go.

It’s been a few hours since I last wrote about him. I’m sitting on his bedroom floor once again, but this time, he’s on Discord with one of his friends. They’re talking about things that I don’t quite understand, but he’s having a good time, and that’s all that really matters to me. He’s enjoying himself.

He says he hates people, but when he’s talking to his friends, he shines. His laughter brightens up the room, and his smile moves something in me.

He does this thing sometimes where he starts acting really, really weird. In fact, he’s doing it right now. He’s making strange sounds and just, generally, being a maniac. It used to bother me, but I’ve learned to love it. I think it’s cute, and he seems kind of happy acting this way, so it makes me happy. It reminds me of a little kid, really.

He just came in here, and then left, because I told him to leave. But I didn’t want him to leave. And now I’m unreasonably upset about it. I meant that I didn’t want him to watch me write, but I really miss him right now, and I’m full of so much love for him that it’s spilling out of me like blood from a knife wound.

I feel small at the moment. I feel like a kid again. I want to color, to play with stuffed animals, and to be taken care of. I want him to tell me I’m too little to do things by myself, like brushing my hair or tying my shoes. I want him to tuck me in and read me a bedtime story.

And you know what? I think he would, in a heartbeat, do all of these things. I think he knows what it means to me. He knows that I struggle with growing up, and he knows that sometimes, I just want to experience the childhood I never got to have.

That’s one of the things I love about him. He listens, and he tries, really really hard. He gets sad sometimes, because he thinks he’s not good enough to keep me happy, but the truth is, I have never felt more understood, loved, and cared for than I do now. He feels like… a protector. Someone who would come find me if I got lost. And that is the greatest feeling in the world.

I’m sitting in my bedroom alone, wishing he would come back and give me another kiss. I miss him. I want to be babied and loved on right now. I need him more than anything. And as I am typing this, I am considering getting up to go get him and tell him what I need, because that’s what we do. We communicate. We tell each other everything. Admittedly, I’m not usually the most open when it comes to communicating in relationships, but he brings it out of me. He makes me want to be honest. He makes me want to tell the truth. Not only with him, either. He makes me want to be a better person in everything I do. He has such a good heart that it can’t help but weave itself into the strings of my own and inspire me to be kind - like him.

He’ll read this and think I’m full of it, but he doesn’t get it, and he might never get it. Some of the best people never realize how good they are. But I know, for a fact, that he is so, so good, and it’s the kind of good that makes you reflect on your own behavior and realize that you will never quite measure up.

He just came in to get me. He’s cooking some ramen, and I went out into the kitchen to see him do it for a minute. I didn’t stay there. I came back to my bedroom to continue writing about him. I don’t know how to explain this at all, but I will try my best. Every interaction I have, every single thing he says to me, I want to write it down, because I want to remember it all. I want to cherish every single moment with him. Even the bland, dull ones, like watching him put a ramen block into a pot of boiling water. I loved him just as much in that moment as I did when I cried in his arms for an hour. My love for him does not change, it does not waiver. I will love him while we are sleeping just as much as I do while we’re awake, and that is a powerful thing.

Now I’m sitting here, listening to The Smiths and the racket of him cooking. I’m thinking about music, and how much he loves it. There is something so admirable about people with passions. I can’t help but find myself wishing I was like them. Especially him. His talent and passion for music is so, so incredible. He’s incredible, really, everything about him.

Now he’s sitting here, eating his ramen, and I just read the last few paragraphs to him. He’s smiling at me, that smile he gives me when he wants me to know that he’s in love with me. My heart is beating really fast, and I can’t quite calm myself down. I’m nervous, and I’m embarrassed of everything I’ve written thus far. He’s not saying anything about what I’ve written, and it scares me. I feel stupid. Very, very stupid.

He just highlighted his favorite parts of what I wrote. It made me feel better, and like he appreciated my writing.

Now we’re laying here, and I’m on the verge of tears. I can feel it building behind my eyes and I don’t quite know why. I hope he knows I would do anything for him. I’d kill for him, I’d die for him, and most importantly, I would live for him.

It’s the next day. I’m sitting in bed, and he’s about to take a shower. I think I’d like to shower with him, but I can’t manage to get up and do it.

I can’t stop writing about him. Putting my thoughts about him into words is addictive, and maybe even therapeutic. Seeing his reaction to these words is even better.

I could spend the rest of my life writing about my love for him, because no amount of words could ever fully encapsulate my adoration.

I’m hungry. I want to go out there and find something to eat, but I’m afraid that he’s mad at me, and I don’t want to face that. I hate when he’s upset with me. It feels like a parasite, slowly eating away at my stomach lining, leaving me tortured and miserable.

So I asked him. He said he wasn’t upset with me, he was just preoccupied with writing a song. Whether he’s writing, playing guitar, drumming, or practicing piano, it seems like he’s always doing something music related. Like I have said before, I think it’s admirable. But… admittedly, I have a jealousy problem. Music is the most important thing in his life by far, and he’s said it himself, that he loves it more than anything. I will have to learn to accept this. He loves music more than he loves me, and it hurts me just to write that out, but it’s true, and I have to get over it. I just can’t help but wonder… if I was different, would that change? If I was prettier, softer, kinder, like I’ve always wanted to be, would he love me more?

It’s a question I’ll never be able to answer, and I get the feeling it won’t stop haunting me, regardless of what he says.

He loves me, and he loves me a lot. Maybe not as much as music, but I’m certainly up there, I think. It’s just kind of sad, because I personally can’t think of anything I love more than him.

That’s part of being me, though. I’ve always loved a little too hard. I find someone, and I make them the most important thing in my life. It’s a little unhealthy, I’ve been told, but to be honest.. I don’t care.

I am happiest when I am consumed by my love for other people, despite all the insecurities that come with it. I am nothing without other people.

My worth is based entirely on how I can be of service to those I love. Especially him.

And I could never stand to feel worthless.