BLUE-EYED BOY
You know, it's ridiculously funny that I sit there, watching you across the room, wanting to hold your long, pale fingers, squeeze your freckled cheeks, and kiss you in that imperfect chin of yours, in the little hole you have there, that makes everything about you just right.
But then, you say something hurting, and it's like a poison to me; all of a sudden i feel threatened and abandoned and not loved. I feel like I'd never be able to look you in the eyes and see conformation there; the pure support maybe i had imagined in my head, which had never been there, but yet, somehow, i know i was right about. I'm scared you won't be there, the blue-eyed boy i fell in love with, when the truth is out; the truth about us, about me. They say the truth cannot long be hidden. And I'm afraid of reasonable possibility of your destruction - that it could make you vanish; the the boy probably I made.
But you continue to break me into pieces and all of a sudden only that I want to do is to brake you as well.
I want you to shut it. I want you to never stop looking me in the eyes, not even when I get up and approach to you, and push you against the wall, and lower myself to reach your lips and kiss them; i want you to see me, my blue-eyed boy, when i taste the salt of your lips and inhale the breath of your blue soul. I want you to watch me. I'll watch you too. I don't want us to ever stop watching each other in the eyes --yours, blue, and mines, green-- and never talk again, never poison each other with our fears and frustrations.