There are three things in this world that I love more than anything else- Kurt's hair, Kurt's voice, and Kurt, simply. Without him, I would be nothing; I would be the same jock, the same stereotypical, homophobic small town bully who was destined to become the owner of a convenience store, have three and a half kids, and a wife I never really loved. I would spend my Saturday nights with the guys, drinking beer in a dingy little bar that played music that was cool three months ago, talking about how hard life is when you're providing for a family.
But I'm not.
Last Saturday night, Kurt and I went to a concert in a park that we'd never heard of, and listened to a band that had maybe a 100 fans altogether. We knew no one there, and we held hands the entire time, not a care in the entire fucking world.
With Kurt, I'm finally studying to do what I've wanted to do since I was a kid, but never admitted to myself- I'm going to be a photographer. I'm learning to capture moments, memories; Kurt's smile when he sees that the soufflé he made had risen exactly the way he wanted it to; the way he crumples his nose when he talks and eats at the same time trying to cover his mouth, but he just can't stop because it's so important that I know what he has to say right now; his hair when he wakes up in the morning, his bleary eyes looking up at me as I snap the picture, as he scrunches up his face, telling me to stop David, I just woke up, please, oh God, whyyyy.
When I watch Kurt up on stage, as he performs in front of all the other kids in our university, their parents and sisters and brothers with them, I am awed. Because, at that moment, when he hits a note I thought was impossible, I realize- Kurt is everything; Kurt is my magnetic north.
I murmur this to Kurt as we lay in our bed, past midnight, my fingers brushing the hair on his forehead back, my mouth close to his ear.
"You're my compass," I tell him, simply. "You're my magnetic north. You keep this whole ship on course. Without you, I'd be lost."
Kurt smiles, because he remembers- he remembers this song playing in the car when we took our first road trip, in the beginning stages of what turned into the relationship we have now. He remembers the exact moment when he held my hand, intertwining his fingers through mine. He remembers building a fort in the first apartment we shared, the one we share now, and how we fell asleep in the middle of it, amidst pillows and cushions.
"You're my autumn cold; anagram, of a dirty road. Best joke, that I ever heard," I whisper as I kiss the side of Kurt's head. He is already a sleep, a soft smile on his face.
As Kurt falls asleep, I shake myself out of my dream, waking up suddenly.
It was a dream.
It will always be a dream.
I'm not a photographer- I'm a student at Ohio State, studying to become an accountant. This Saturday I sat in a dingy bar, but not with any friends, because I don't have them. Kurt doesn't remember intertwining his fingers through mine, because it never happened. I am still nothing, I am a loner at a less than great university, in a town I despise, and in a bed that has seen more tears than it should have.
I am Dave Karofsky, and Kurt is my magnetic north- he is my autumn cold, my faded pictures, my inside jokes; but to him, I am nothing.