So I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we just make up our own language and fill it up with words that no one else knows, words that came into existence as we spoke? Let’s just create these things, because the thought of it is exhilarating to me.You are exhilarating to me. You are a beautiful thing, filling up my brain, taking up residence in all these cracks and crevices so that you leave me hardly any room to think of anything else.
Beautiful. That’s not a word I use too much for people. You are a beautiful feeling- that moment when my breath catches in my throat for a brief second, when my heart does a back flip, only I accidentally call it a flip-flop because I’m too incoherent to even know what I’m saying anymore- it’s fleeting and forever all at the same time. It’s terrifying.
Beautiful. You are beautiful. I overuse this word for things I love- for prose and poetry and Neruda and places and food. But not for boys, no, never, how could a boy- a real live one not made of celluloid screens- be beautiful, y’know? But you are. It’s not just your face, or that one mole you have on your shoulder below your left collarbone. It’s not the way that your too-tall skinny frame fits perfectly into mine when we’re lying side by side. It’s not those stupid sudden endearing things you do like the way you kiss my nose, or that jolt I feel when I look up at you and realize that I want you. I look at you up close, our noses almost touching, and I’m floored.
It’s a feeling in the gut of your stomach, y’know? Almost a queasy one because you realize you’re in trouble, but you can’t- don’t want to stop. It’s the one that has been making me increasingly soppy and sappy and gooey-eyed with accelerating speed.
You are my summer. You’re the hard sunshine making me blink in the sudden light, you’re the cool comfort in the air when it rains. You are this insane whirlwind of colour, this really chill tangled mess that I want to run away to places with, metaphorically speaking, literally speaking.
You are here now. With me.