he's 31. he's a boy. he's my entire electricity bill. he's so young and he's so much older than we first met and he's grown so much and he's still the same. he keeps all the love i have given him all these years and it shows that he does. he glows with it. you see this guy with his face eating smile and his world winning charm and soft, soft laugh and you couldn't imagine he's the same guy that's known loss and pain like no one else. you see him crouched on his haunches, basking in the cheers and applause but behind him are the mountains he's had to hammer down not most take the effort to know about. the milestones that cut at his skin. the labyrinth that made him forget his way back home. he's so strong and miraculous and sparkly and lovely and warm and you don't dare tell me those lights weren't for him because the man whose very breath changes lives deserves a day in the year where all the lights are for him. hell even two. i love you louis, and i hope you know for me you outbright the sun everyday