I don’t know much about him but I’m kind of infatuated with this boy. Or maybe it’s the idea of him that I’ve created. I found myself thinking about him tonight on a walk under some makeshift constellations struggling through the light pollution of Miami, fleeting thoughts coming and going like South Florida rainfall. It’s not a lusty, I-want-to-fuck-him kind of deal. I want to hold him close and sing him soft rainstorm melodies and move him in a way that makes him feel unspeakably alive because there’s nothing that has touched him to the core like that in a long time. I want to bear my soul to him in the way that symphonies are written, so that at its completion, my story will have completely enveloped him like the blanket we shared at the predawn of the wine-saturated ocean, and he’ll realize that there is nothing more painfully right than the overlap of the lines on our palms and all the countless intersections of his eyes (beautiful, sun-drenched) and mine. I want him to stay here with me. I want to keep him.