If only if only, the woodpecker sighs.
His eyes are like an angels breath, soft and gentle but utterly mysterious, beckoning to be questioned but hesitant to answer. They threaten to topple every bit of rationality I stand on, their ultramarine irises as deep as the whirlpools that spin within them. I cannot last when I look at him.
His hands are like a Grecian god, slight and wiry but undoubtedly capable. They are hands that cut through the viscous air, otherwise known as water, with no determination other than to be free. I want to intertwine them forever in mine, but for now I must be content to hold them only with my eyes.
His body is the mathematical definition of symmetry, everything even on both sides. It's as though an God gave a masterful statue the breath of life; no longer marble, muscles now rippling in the sunlight, jawline dripping with the summer pool water, hair wet from his underwater reverie.
When I look at him this way…..
I don't want to look at him this way because it makes my eyes tear up in both ecstasy and unfathomable sadness that he is alive, the most beautiful living creature I have ever seen, and yet he will never know my feelings towards him. But these tears obstruct my view of him.
What I desire is an unfulfilled fantasy and as much as I wish it would become reality, what I truly want more than anything else is for him to be free: Like a dolphin in the spring, ascending through the water and breaking above the waves, water splashing around him like diamonds in the endless sunshine of a perfect day. I want him to be happy. I want him to be free.