A/N: A little background. It's a moment between two guys, but it's just...eh. If I took out this description you'd think it was whatever you wanted it to be (with maybe a few word changes), so there we go that's my point. ANYWAY, um. It's the narrator's family background that causes most of the turmoil, as this kind of relationship is frowned upon by his immediate family...and, well, let's say he wants their approval. It's a character from September First Two Thousand Four (crappy title), which is part of a longer book that I'm writing. Blah. I think that's all I need to say. And, I really like this one-- the tone, description and etcetera. Once again, fictionpress hates my formatting, so it's different from the original document. Enjoy and stuff. (WOAH...that was long...)

Stars appeared in my vision

Bursting into being and crowding out everything

Colors spreading out in all directions

And blotting out the gray sidewalk and squat brick buildings—

Your absolutely untrendy (so refreshing) fingernails.

And I find that I can’t see anything anymore

(colors and abstraction, catching on my glasses and inducing razzle-dazzle

like looking directly at the sun)

I’m scared of what you said, I’m scared of everything that hangs off of those

Three words (why’d you say that, why’d you say that?)—

Make a neat neat slice across the chest (I think maybe—I’m no expert)

And down down down the torso—peel back my skin and bones and see my ugly

Insides—red and pink, textured slimy shiny, rolling eyes— I find a way to make

A would-be-should-be beautiful moment into something hideous again. Sorry I fucked this up too, but it’s only more proof!--

I am selfish. I am moody. I am dark. I am cryptic. I have locked myself in a box and

Am trying to be a contortionist. (I need to be this way, I need it like you need air)

Why’d you say that, why’d you say that?

I’m not. I’m not. I’m not suited to someone like you like that.

I don’t want my knees to go that cliché weak,

but they do when news of what you said

Travels from my mind into my body—

you give me the shakes boy, and nobody’s done that since forever and ever

(why’d you have to go and do that? I’ve made it clear that

Nobody’s to do that in a million years.

I am suave.

I am sophisticated.

I don’t fall for anyone—especially not you, not people like you, not you.)

And my stupid gray eyes are wide

(rainbows like what I see right now are things I never want to see—

I’m black and white, black and white) but you know what?

I don’t know what to say,

a thousand responses are in my head and swirling dancing twirling like

They’ve got a million years instead of half a minute to pick an actual answer.

(And there’s only one idea without a lovely dancing partner—oh is it so lonely—

but I can never say three words like that. Not to you.)

The minutes drag on and on like two parched men pulling themselves through the Sahara— it won’t be long before they die from lack of water (or something like response)

I am intensely aware of a clock ticking tocking tocking even though there isn’t

One around for a bit of a walk—someone somewhere hears it for real for me.

Eventually I end up saying nothing at all and you look like you expected that

But are still so so disappointed—

Why’d you say that, why’d you go and say that?

And when you walk away

(I remember how you cast your hair in front of your eyes

And how I knew exactly what that meant—how it hurt

Because I never make you retreat like that.)

The only thing I do is bite my lip so hard it bleeds (damn)

I haven’t done that for awhile, but I stop the flow with my finger—

It all dries up after just a minute.

I wonder why it feels like I’m the biggest idiot in America when you disappear,

Why I feel like I’ve taken an ice cream scoop and dug my guts, organs out of

My body with it—

As if I’m hollow like a jack-o-lantern now, but I don’t want to think about it,

I don’t wanna, I don’t even wanna think about it.

I wonder if maybe I should have said something or done something,

If maybe I should find out where you are and...

And...

Tell you anything or everything.

But of course, I don’t do anything because I know that I would approach with the

Intention of saying something and would end up saying nothing.

I am suave. I am sophisticated. People like me don’t get weak in the knees, don’t

Ever feel rushed or chaotic inside the mind.

I am selfish. I am moody. I am dark. I am cryptic. I am locked. Up. Tight. And I don’t

Want to know about it. People like me don’t do daring things, don’t march to the beat of

A different drum.

People like me are too scared to bother with moving.

It’s got to be better off this way anyway. (But maybe that’s not true.)