Edited on February 8th, 2009. Fixed some of the horrible punctuation mistakes of my early writing.
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I've always dreamed of running away. I've always imagined lying on a blanket, on the roof of a car, just watching the stars, holding the person that I love. I would always wonder who that someone is. My someone was always someone who I would right away know who they were when I met them. They would let me cry on their shoulder when I needed it. I always thought it would be the other way around and I would be that someone's source of comfort. How the tables turn from when you're young to when you realize you've grown up to be a bundle of angst and feelings. I'm not going be a source of comfort. I'm the one needing that source of comfort now. I didn't know I loved you. It took time. It wasn't love at first sight.
I heard you always have a little kid inside of you. But what if that kid is still there, but it's limp and dead? Kids are always happy. They're innocent, clean, and pure. They can love anyone no matter what. They don't know what hate means. I always wish I were still that little kid who would make perverted cracks every now and then, and would smile and laugh with his friends.
No, I don't have some silly schoolgirl crush. It's love. Genuine, "I'd live with you forever until we're both eighty years old and still fuck" love.
I turned it over and over in my mind, until I came to the conclusion, it was always so much more than I thought it was. More than I allowed it to be. More than you ever allowed it to be. It's there.
For me.
Not for you.
How about that old "they don't love me back" thing? I never thought I would give a damn, but I know you don't feel the same. It's practically proven. You could feel the same, but you won't. I'm a coward, I would never let you know. It just doesn't work that way, either. It wouldn't be normal. Hell, I'm not normal.
Who am I again? Oh yeah. I'm the man-whore who is pretty much asexual to emotional love and bindings of any kind. I'm the basket case who can only feel some sick lust for roughly half the human population. I'm the one who hates everyone. Almost everyone.
I'm broken, I really am. I'm not being a martyr or anything. I'm broken. I can't think anymore. It's like I shut down. I can think when I hear your voice though. It's like I get my sanity back. I get my old self, my happy self, my self from a long time ago, when I was still a child and didn't have to care. When I smiled and laughed and played Gamesphere into the next day.
I want to be with you until the world ends. It'll be nice, as long as I'm with you. We can take it on, but you won't take it on. You're good. You're almost clean, almost. I'm not clean. I'm damned. I'm the most damned of us all. I don't deserve you. I love you. It's best you don't know. It's best you never figure it out, even if it hurts a whole fucking lot.
You're like an antidote. I figured it out. You're the reason I keep on living. I've been so confused. I mean, I don't love anybody. I don't expect anything from my life. I know I'm damned. I'm a son of a gun. I don't care about anybody. So why do I stay? What exactly stops me from pulling the trigger? I've asked myself that so many times, and I always came up with the same answer. Every time. I thought - no, that's not it. It's because I would make you sad. You're my friend. You don't hurt friends like that.
But friends move on. We all know that. It's not as hard to abandon friends. I wouldn't care about leaving Cartman, or Kyle, or anybody else - but what if you love somebody so much it's hard to breathe? You don't just leave them. It's hard to leave them. I love you - so much. I could cry on your shoulder, and I'd soon be crying tears of joy, just because it's you I'm getting my snot and tears all over.
My God, I'm only living because of you. You're saving my life every second of every day just by being on my mind. Just by giving me some hope for something, anything to dream about in the back of my mind. Even if I won't ever have your love, because you don't feel like that. Maybe you love me, but you don't love me. I can still have hopes and dreams, though.
I need to be loved. Then everything will be all right, even if it's all wrong. God, I love you so much. I've never hurt like this before. I've never felt like this before. It hurts so bad. I didn't know it was possible. What the hell are you doing to me? I just want to tell you I love you over and over and over again, and you'll say you love me too, but then you'll say platonic. Because you don't love me. Not how I need to be loved. Not how I crave to be loved. Even if I need it now, more than ever.
I'm staring at you from across the street as you walk home, and I'm crying. I'm such a pussy, but it hurts to love like this.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
I need to hear you say you'll be with me forever, but I won't. Because God hates fags. And you're my friend.
My friend.
I wipe away my tears just as you look over to my house and wave. I smile back, a weak smile. Oh God, just seeing you walk over to me makes me want you.
I move over so you can sit next to me along the wall without blocking the door.
"Hey Kenny. Aren't you cold out here?"
"Nah. 'Sides, it's nice out here. The first time this week the clouds are gone enough to see the stars."
You nod, and frown when you look at me. From the street light illuminating my face, I suppose you would be able to tell my eyes are red and puffy. I can feel them stinging a bit from the cold air and my crying earlier. Fuck.
"Dude, you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, Stan."
"You don't look it..."
"I am. Really," I say and do my best to produce a smile that matches my statement. I suppose I don't do a very good job at it because your frown deepens, and you start chewing on your bottom lip. Why do you have to do that? It just makes you more adorable, and just makes me crave more of what I can't have. Seems to be the story of my life.
You open your mouth to speak, but close it. You look like you're thinking of something, but I don't want to look at you and feel like this, so I turn away to just stare up at the stars as it gets darker and more stars start showing up. "You know you can talk to me, right? I'm your friend. You haven't looked okay lately."
I know you're my friend, Stan. Trust me, I know. Because that's all you're going to be. Because I'm a coward, and I don't ever get more than I deserve. "Yeah, I know. But really, I'm fine."
Lies.
A heavy sigh, but you let it go. We sit in silence for a while, before a shot of color darts through the sky. A shooting star. In mental reflex, I make a wish. I want to have you with me forever. I want you to love me.
"Whoa," you say next to me, and I look over and can't help but smile at your awed face.
"Did you make a wish?"
"Yeah, but I've never seen a shooting star before."
"Really? It's not rare to see one, really. You just have to look close enough, long enough, and they're there all the time," I explain to you. Really, if you sit out here long enough, you'll see at least one shooting star every time. There's really always a chance for wishes, but that doesn't mean they come true. I feel my eyes water, just feeling your warmth next to me and that sinking feeling you get when you think about how something isn't real, and you just lose hope. I sniffle as inconspicuously as I can to keep myself from crying, but you hear it anyways.
You look like you're about to say something and you open your mouth to do so, but instead you just whisper my name. The next thing I know you pull me close to you in an oddly comforting hug.
"Hey, Ken... I love you, 'kay? I'm always here for you, and whatever's going on, it's gonna be okay," you say in a tone that makes me just lose it. I dig my face into your shoulder, and I can feel myself shaking from trying not to outright sob right there. But I think about your words, and then I think about how I'm in your arms and getting tears and snot all over your jacket.
I think about that star. I think about my wish. I start sobbing, your shoulder and jacket muffling my cries.
And I smile.