Once was a boy so beautiful that all I wanted to do was kiss his eyelids and drench him in adoration. Not sure it was the eyelids or the overdue need in me to love before it burst violently through my ribs.
I had gotten it in my head that he was the one to give all to and though he was nice and seemed to somewhat care, what I had rattling around in my chest waiting to be freed was not for him.
Not now. Maybe for him when he was innocent and could understand the endurance of my illogical love, once given always abiding. Back when he believed. Now, not.
Maybe for his future self that might lay down weapons formed from betrayal and disappointment. But I think that when he does it will be for someone else who, like me, yearns to kiss his eyelids and live lips tucked into the crook of his neck, his scent her only anchor.
He isn’t a boy really, though until we grow into creatures who claim their dreams, we remain children seeking succor. And though I may focus on him, I know that this has less to do with anyone than with my delinquency.
Time has come for me to love like first bite of mango in summer, dripping juice. I am ready to be someone’s home. Someone’s deepest comfort. His greatest escape. I am ready to crawl onto his chest and know no harm can reach me. I am ready to give him every ounce of light this body has because he would reflect it, our love-force perpetual. Ready.