I love Anthony's song, and if you listen to it, you can't say that this doesn't describe Angel and Collins perfectly! Go and listen to it right now!
I lie down in bed with my lover, listening to the soft sounds of him breathing as he sleeps. It's the middle of the afternoon and he's exhausted from teaching his students at New York University. They are all couch potatoes in his opinion. I guess I woke him up because I feel his arms wrap around me. He pulls me closer and holds onto me as he kisses my forehead. Then my cheek. Then my lips. I giggle and squirm in his arms; the hairs on his face tickle me sometimes.
"I'll never harm you," he whispers to me.
"I know," I reply.
"This is wonderful." He gives me more kisses, saying, "I love you" in between each one.
"I love you, Collins," I say, "and I'll always be true."
I've had other boyfriends before. I've said words like these to them too. At the time, they seemed fitting. And now the old words just feel so new to me. Like he's the only guy in the world who I should be saying these words to.
Because he is.
"How did I get so lucky?" I ask him. "I didn't even have to try."
I didn't. It took three thugs to beat him up for me to find him, leading to this moment, right here, right now.
"I don't know," he says. "I'm nothing special. I'm just some guy."
He smiles at me like he means it. But he's more than just some guy. He's my guy. My guy, stretched out on his back without a shirt to cover his exposed chest.
"I love you," he says again. His eyes are shining when he says it. It's the fifth or sixth time he's said it; I can't keep track anymore.
I reach up and push off his treasured beanie to run my fingers through his short black hair. I then put my hands to his chest, right above his heart. I can feel it beating against my palms. He gives me another smile.
"I find safe haven there," I say. He puts his hands over mine and brings them to his lips. I can feel myself falling in love with him even more than I am now.
"How did you get to be so sweet and so kind?" I ask him.
I know that he used to be more of an anarchist than anything. Always used to wreak havec wherever he went. Mark told me about the time he went streaking through a parking lot when I first met them.
"I don't know," he repeats. "Like I said, I'm nothing special. I'm just some guy."
"You're heart's so big, and you're mind's so alive," I say. "You have passion and freedom and vision and drive. You have so much to give and you give it with care. You have helped me to heal, and there's nowhere I won't go with you."
And I mean every word of it.
He holds me even tighter now. He breathes me in. He's always said that I smell sweet.
"I love you," Collins says again. He puts his hand under my shirt and traces his fingertips on my skin. They're cold, but I don't dare make him stop.
Because I'm happier now than I've ever been. I don't ever want this feeling to die.
And if he says he's just some guy, that's fine, the truth is, he's mine.
My sweetheart. My love. Sent down from the sky.
And so very much more than just some guy.