~Disclaimer: I own nothing related to BmB. I wish I did, b/c Skids and Cya and Fox and Collin are all SO HOT... *melts* But yeah, you get the point. have fun, feedback appreciated!!~
Beautiful. Abso-fucking-lutely beautiful.
I read somewhere that the worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right next to him or her and knowing you can't have him or her.
Whoever said that was a genius. An absolute fucking genius.
I miss him. Sometimes that pain is so great I would do anything to make it go away.
And then, in those moments, he does something that, even though it's so comforting, it makes the pain hurt more, because I can't do it back.
Sometimes I do return his actions, but only when I'm sure that they won't wreck my reputation as a hetero.
My rep. Oh, sometimes I wish I could just say "Fuck it all to hell" and then go be with him, showing more PDA's than is required to get the point across, not because I have to, but because I can.
He's so beautiful. And I don't even have the balls to tell him.
I hate needles. Few people know that, he being one of them. But somehow I can manage to gather up my courage to forget my fear and get another piercing, another tattoo.
And for some reason I can't gather my courage and face my fear of being seen as gay.
Who cares if I'm gay? Harls is gay, and everyone likes him the same.
...But I don't like boys.
...But I love him.
...And I wish I didn't, because then my life would be much less confusing.
...But at the same time, I love loving him, because he is so different from everyone else. He is one of those rare people who won't take the world for granted, no matter what.
We went to a church once, and he fell in love with the stained glass windows. He stood there for a long time, moving as the light moved, admiring the colors on his skin.
He made me go stand with him, and we traced the patterns of colors on each other's skin for an endless amount of time. It was beautiful.
He was so beautiful.
They tore the church down a while later, and I saw the tears in his eyes when I told him it was gone.
"What about the windows?"
"They were given to another church."
"Where?"
"I don't know, amigo."
He was so sad... I hate seeing him sad. It hurts both Harls and I when he's sad, but it hurts me more.
All because he is so beautiful, and when he's hurt that shine he has is dulled.
I never want to see him like that again.
Ever.
I never EVER want him to be sad because his colors are taken away. Of all things, that is the worst you could do to him.
...Another thing I love about him is his hands. He's our keyboardist, you know, and his hands reflect it. Long fingers, skinny, although not bony or knobby, like some skinny fingers are. When he touches things, he touches them like they are fragile, about to break, and yet he presses down hard.
Like the time we were in my room, talking, and he was tracing the lines on my palm. He held my hand still with his left, firmly, but not hard enough to hurt. His right kept tracing my palm over and over, just his forefinger touching it, never letting go.
Sometimes I wonder if he ever notices things like that about me. He seems so innocent, like he doesn't understand. Like he wouldn't understand if I told him I loved him.
But then there are times when he is the deepest person I know. Like, even though on the outside he seems shallow and stupid, he goes deeper than everyone else in the world.
I read somewhere that mentally handicapped people are actually the smartest people in the universe, but, so they don't reveal the secrets to everyone else, they can't communicate these ideas with normal speech or anything. Like the important information is taking up their entire brain and they don't have the normal parts for speech and movement, or maybe they do have them, but they're used for storage, like a room in your house that's supposed to be a bedroom but it's used for keeping the boxes and furniture you never use.
...Listen to me. I think I've adopted his ways of thinking, meandering from one subject into another.
...The most beautiful person I know is sitting right next to me right at this very moment, but I can't tell him.
But, sometimes, I think he already knows.
Beautiful. Abso-fucking-lutely beautiful.
I read somewhere that the worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right next to him or her and knowing you can't have him or her.
Whoever said that was a genius. An absolute fucking genius.
I miss him. Sometimes that pain is so great I would do anything to make it go away.
And then, in those moments, he does something that, even though it's so comforting, it makes the pain hurt more, because I can't do it back.
Sometimes I do return his actions, but only when I'm sure that they won't wreck my reputation as a hetero.
My rep. Oh, sometimes I wish I could just say "Fuck it all to hell" and then go be with him, showing more PDA's than is required to get the point across, not because I have to, but because I can.
He's so beautiful. And I don't even have the balls to tell him.
I hate needles. Few people know that, he being one of them. But somehow I can manage to gather up my courage to forget my fear and get another piercing, another tattoo.
And for some reason I can't gather my courage and face my fear of being seen as gay.
Who cares if I'm gay? Harls is gay, and everyone likes him the same.
...But I don't like boys.
...But I love him.
...And I wish I didn't, because then my life would be much less confusing.
...But at the same time, I love loving him, because he is so different from everyone else. He is one of those rare people who won't take the world for granted, no matter what.
We went to a church once, and he fell in love with the stained glass windows. He stood there for a long time, moving as the light moved, admiring the colors on his skin.
He made me go stand with him, and we traced the patterns of colors on each other's skin for an endless amount of time. It was beautiful.
He was so beautiful.
They tore the church down a while later, and I saw the tears in his eyes when I told him it was gone.
"What about the windows?"
"They were given to another church."
"Where?"
"I don't know, amigo."
He was so sad... I hate seeing him sad. It hurts both Harls and I when he's sad, but it hurts me more.
All because he is so beautiful, and when he's hurt that shine he has is dulled.
I never want to see him like that again.
Ever.
I never EVER want him to be sad because his colors are taken away. Of all things, that is the worst you could do to him.
...Another thing I love about him is his hands. He's our keyboardist, you know, and his hands reflect it. Long fingers, skinny, although not bony or knobby, like some skinny fingers are. When he touches things, he touches them like they are fragile, about to break, and yet he presses down hard.
Like the time we were in my room, talking, and he was tracing the lines on my palm. He held my hand still with his left, firmly, but not hard enough to hurt. His right kept tracing my palm over and over, just his forefinger touching it, never letting go.
Sometimes I wonder if he ever notices things like that about me. He seems so innocent, like he doesn't understand. Like he wouldn't understand if I told him I loved him.
But then there are times when he is the deepest person I know. Like, even though on the outside he seems shallow and stupid, he goes deeper than everyone else in the world.
I read somewhere that mentally handicapped people are actually the smartest people in the universe, but, so they don't reveal the secrets to everyone else, they can't communicate these ideas with normal speech or anything. Like the important information is taking up their entire brain and they don't have the normal parts for speech and movement, or maybe they do have them, but they're used for storage, like a room in your house that's supposed to be a bedroom but it's used for keeping the boxes and furniture you never use.
...Listen to me. I think I've adopted his ways of thinking, meandering from one subject into another.
...The most beautiful person I know is sitting right next to me right at this very moment, but I can't tell him.
But, sometimes, I think he already knows.