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Egh, no slash, but... it's boylove. ><
Also, I didn't reread this... not yet, at least. So I apologize for errors in advance.
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It was just those things he dreamed about.
They were simple, small, listful little words that never actually passed the border of his lips. They rested on the tip of his tongue; and more than anything they wanted to push out beyond what felt like a thin barrier. It was true- the flesh that remained closed when they wanted to sing were only too small compared to the things that wanted to spill forth.
Even when he didn't mean to thoughts somehow entangled themselves in something that was totally unrelated- them. Well, him. Him. The thoughts had first settled in hostile territory, bubbling and being thrashed around until it was considered to be untrue. As time passed on, though, the thoughts and feeling resurfaced and howled at him like some ungoddishly lonely creature from Hell.
And now, he was more than clearly what he believed those tea-drinking people called whipped.
He almost felt like a stalker, really- always thinking. Even if it was a completely unrelated subject their name was there, or something that had happened between them. WAS he a stalker? Was he turning into one of those insane people that wandered around on the street? Obsess over a person strait up until he finally snapped and did something that only an insane person would do?
But then, the thought of inflicting any type of harm on him seemed absolutely unbearable. Did that prove that he wasn't crazy? ...But then why was he always thinking about him even when the situation didn't call for it or was completely unrelated!?
If anything, THAT by itself was enough to drive him insane and into one of those jackets with the straps on them. Thinking about him brought about a calm in him that he'd never really felt before. Not until then. But at the same time, he felt so painfully gleeful that he was sure his insides would rupture. Why couldn't things like these be strait forward and simple instead of insanely complicated and make NO sense whatsoever?
At the same time, though, it almost felt like his feelings didn't matter. After all, as long as He was happy, did it really matter how he felt? It wasn't that he didn't want him to be his or the other way around, but in the end it was the person he cared about that mattered. His feelings condemned him in the same moment that they freed him. Even though his heart seemed to grow stronger at the smallest mention of the other's name it also faltered and the feeling could only be described as... well, maybe emotional bleeding.
He'd always been so clever and hell, he wasn't about to deny that he could be a jerk sometimes just for the fun of it. So these things were absolutely and mortifyingly misplaced. They shouldn't be there, they shouldn't exist- aside from the fact that just a single, SINGLE person was tearing him apart with such a level of emotional pain that was so powerful that his bones ached- it was a guy. A man. A male. Why couldn't he have been a she?
It was selfish to think these thoughts, though, and he knew it. This entire thing seemed ludacris to him but no matter how much he tried the feelings refused to dissipate or fade. To be away meant a strong loneliness, but in the same gesture being close by might have been even worse. Because despite how overpowering they were, he could never say anything.
Because it simply... was not meant to exist.
The words hurt and burned, because they weren't simply by themselves but they had been smashed into the feelings and created some sort of an invisible acid that licked away and burned holes into himself. Sometimes he wondered if speaking would help. Alleviate the pain. It didn't seem like anything would, though; except for a mirror of his feelings appearing from Him. Not the same- different, but loving....
Ah, here he was, getting so self-absorbed again. But he just couldn't help it. These things floated inside of his mind whether or not he wanted them to and even when he banished them they returned. It was a simple and brutalic cycle that he was sure would kill him. After everything that he had gone through, it would be this that would kill him.
It almost felt worth it. Maybe it was worth it- just to love them so much that he figured tearing himself apart would be little sacrifice if it was for the other's needs. But the feelings would never be returned, because they weren't there. It just didn't exist. It existed in him. It's beauty and pain was more than enough for him to know. But in the other, there was nothing even close.
Now all of those things that he'd heard made sense. Except in his case, everything was one-sided. There was no one to share it with, and the feelings, in all of their glory and warmth, was so, so bitterly cold.
He didn't want the feelings to die because then it would mean that everything would have meant nothing. Meaningless. And He was not meaningless. But what was all of this? The word that had been punctured onto the feelings felt too damn small. Across cultures the word to describe was always so... tiny. It needed to be bigger. But then, maybe it was supposed to be that way.
It really was something so simple. He loved him. It was the attachments that made it unbearable.
So the tears would come, drip to the floor and ultimately be absolutely meaningless. Physics stated that when something pushed against something else that "something else" exerted a force equal to what was being pushed against it. Why was it that this couldn't work in the same way?
To love something- no, someone- that was indescribably... everything to him seemed... he didn't even know. There were things that words and pictures could only begin to skim across. Nothing could ever begin to pierce such a thing like this.
To love someone that was indescribably something to him. Only so many words could be crammed into a single sentence. To love something that would never love back, though....
It was more brutal and wonderful than anything he could have ever imagined.
 MythicalYoko · Sat Feb 07, 2009 @ 09:02am · 3 Comments |
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