IRC-Galleria

I looked and looked at him, and I knew, as clearly as I know that I will die, that I loved him more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth. He was only the dead-leaf echo of the nymphet from long ago - but I loved him, this boy, pale and polluted and now dated with another girl. He could fade and wither - I didn't care. I would still go mad with tenderness at the mere sight of his face.

What I heard then was the melody of children at play. Nothing but that. And I knew that the hopelessly poignant thing was not his absence from my side, but the absence of his voice from that chorus.

He's soft and warm and almost weightless. His perfume is sweet promise that brings tears to my eyes. I tell him that everything will be all right; that I'll save him from whatever his scared and take him far far away.
I tell him that I love him.

He is not going to lose me. He has given me a taste for life. I wanna be happy. Sleep in a bed, have roots. And he'll never be alone again, I promise. Please, go now, baby, go. Calm down, go now, go.

I think we'll be ok here, my love.



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