(first fan fic anything, only did it cause im obssesed with the btr post please have mercy.)

I Still Feel It

(A prose poem/BTR fanfic)

This is not the boy I wanted to be, one of jealousy, the emotion of the hungry and desperate. Those words of his crystallized in my soul, details about the third base girl, the one he fingered. His index taking to her womb, making my stomach eat itself.

He is so proud, an accomplishment, a rite of passage in his book of how to adolescence. While I feel so empty, left to wonder unrequited in Minnesota winter sweater weather.

My feelings for Carlos have always been complicated, since the age of snot nosed infancy, but now we're on the cusp of seventeen. Just old enough not to be adults, but to feel adult pain, while being just young enough to be responsible and stupid in a simultaneous twilight. These girls, they come and go around him and I, as is the nature of dazzling fall leaves that will pass.

Don't get me wrong, they do interest me, I still want for them.

A hook up, a girlfriend, a wife, but he just overwhelms my perception, the holy symbol of my loyalty, it is not about gender.

He acts more of an intoxicant, an emotional absinth, it's left me drunken on the form it takes, this is his anatomy, Sake lashes, pinot eyes, grigo lips, zinfandel tongue, sangria hip furrow, moscato cock, and desert wine thighs.

But as is the nature of liquor, its toxins corrupt. inhibitions die, principles weaver in the flow of levee lost emotion. My flock of doves, fowls of my troubles, waiting for a trigger to take flight from my mouth, Cooing at loud length. his words quickly break my birds song. "I'm going all the way with her tonight."

Feeling the wings beat on my tongue, my voice insignificant, I replied "You cant." His brow lowered and flaring pupils carved into me, "And why not?" a slight smirk and crossed arms show he thinks this is some sort of joke. I quickly break that notion "Because I love you." In the following silence he studies my face, seeing no hoax. He paused a tint of sadness washed over him, "Jesus, Kendall your serious." he gathers himself, then fearfully released his words. There clunky, and stuttered, he avoids questions, just saying its ok if im like "That," and I'm his best friend and he doesn't want to lose me but he's just not like "That," he wants to work this "Thing" out.

Ha, my love is just that thing.

I sat, eyes diverted, speaking muteness, regret becoming tar in my brain. "I don't want you to hurt, I… I just don't know what to do." these where his words of department, his prayer to save our friendship.

In the days that followed, we hadn't talked. The closest thing we've had to contact is when we catch the lachrymosely gloomy glances we give to each other across the classroom, across the lunchroom, across the library, across the universe.

Our future right now, sounds like a lullaby you just cant recall, something that brought you peace, and calm, and comfort, at one time and it's something you'd love to here again but it is just out of the grasp of your vocabulary. For the slowly passing moment This gone-gone heartbreaking lullaby, this is the nature of us.

And I cant fix it.