Beautiful
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He sits at the back of my class almost every day.
I sit at my desk and watch his slender hands measure ingredients for the tasks I set before him.
If only I were the roots he so carefully holds.
Pale. Strong. Gentle. Beautiful.
He talks to his friends all through lunch.
I watch him as he devoures the food on his plate.
If only I was the bacon that meets his lips.
Soft. Lucious. Beautiful.
He sleeps soundly on the seventh floor in his dormitory.
I think about him while I stay below in the dungeons
If only I were the bed he lys upon night after night.
Happy. Beautiful.
He is sixteen. He enjoys the freedom of his life. He fears the pain of his future.
I am thirty-seven. I enjoy his freedom. I fear for his life.
If only I was the soul that bears his burdens.
I am everything he is.
We sit. We talk. We watch. We sleep. We think.
We are. I am. He is.
Beautiful.