Sometimes I wonder how he's gotten to this point, or if he's always been this way. Maybe he's always been too intense, too extreme, too furious, too much for the world to handle. Or maybe it's something that grew inside him, slowly but surely wriggling it's way to the surface. Either way, there is an anger in him, something that goes down to his core.

I can hear it pour out of his soul when he throws himself into his music, into the words of another punk rock song denouncing everything. If only that was enough to release that anger and alleviate his pain. It's not. I can still feel it when I hold his hand or put my head against his chest. I can feel it building, threatening to explode at any time. I see it in his eyes when he pushes away family and friends, when he pushes me away, when he hurts himself.

But he's beautiful. All that anger, that self-destruction, it's only because he cares so much about everybody and everything. Because he loves uncontrollably and without hesitation. He is angry because the world isn't as perfect as he knows it can be. He is angry because others aren't, because they don't see what he sees.