It’s true then how your youthful beauty, the freshness, the slight ache I feel inside when you look my way. It isn’t right, you know. And maybe I’d only write this one for you, that I could somehow preserve this person you call you in the words I write, in the mind I am sealed in, and in thoughts I cannot stop from flowing. Day ages and I wait patiently once, only once, for you to come with your star-studded smile, your skin slightly drilled with imperfection, and yet your eyes so full of youth.
Ten months isn’t so far apart after all, but I don’t take time into consideration when I see you. When I do, seconds seem to stop as I feel my throat choking. That maybe you know I exist. And that is enough.
You and I are absolute others. But for some reason, Adonis, I feel like I’m part of this beauty you call you, aesthetically pleasurable. And you don’t even know it. Not one bit.