i met a very beautiful boy a few weeks ago. we were sitting in a little restaurant in the middle of the city. the streetlights outside were bleak, just like all of the people there.
we started talking, because the restaurant was crowded, and, again, tiny. so, we bumped into each other. the hellos were short, like the ceiling, and graceless.
but, then there were the “tell me about you”s, who were much longer:
“I have a positive attitude towards things and is very optimistic with my life. I’m very straight up and never like to sugarcoat things.”…..”my apologies for writing a book, haha. Hopefully this gives you a little insight about myself.”
“You seem very intriguing so far!…I’ll try my best at this, but I’m really not all that great at talking about myself, I live in Baltimore, and I see that you’re from here.”
followed by their ongoing responses:
“I’ve heard Baltimore is very nice. It is beautiful here. Especially at night.”
“It seems so busy! Baltimore City is very lovely, especially by the harbor.”
“It’s very busy here. But, you get use to the abundance of people and the fast-pace lifestyle.”
and so on. there is no need to recite them all.
he had so many warm vibes, and passed them down in every sentence, without the intention of even doing so. he told me about how lonely he was, but he still masked optimism, and how the only thing that kept him calm was his repetitive, self-encouragement for escape.
the hours passed, and everyone started to leave. we went outside and lay on the cross-grained sidewalk, but moved every time people would have to pass. we waited for the sunbeams to come while speaking to the stars, and drinking the water a green hose of a neighboring construction parted with.
the sun repaid us with it’s warmth, as promised by routine. then, we granted great tribute to the beauties our unripe eyes feasted upon during the earlier hours by sitting in a quiet, grassy field. we stared into the sky until the sun was at his highest. we realized, after hours of stillness, that we are merely cruel, creatures of blood an bone, stuck to a massive rock, dominated by our familiars. this rock is 8,000 miles wide, and even in attempt to leave our home through forms of modern technology, we would not go far. we will never be able to see, or know of everything. we are hurdling through blackness that we know little of, but it knows everything of us, which is why we looked to the stars for our answers.
we did this to fulfill bottomless ache from our loathsome feelings toward the skins of the sun, and all of his babies, that we all feel, but no one conveys their feelings of. no-one will be versed of us, where they are witnessed nightly, and frequently held for worship.
i walked him to a mild little house, lost in overgrowth of vines and weeds. a few blocks down from where we were for the past night. we went inside together, after not speaking or looking at each other at all during the 15 or so minutes it took us to walk there. the door was falling apart, and all of the windows were splintered and broken. we went up the squeaky steps, and into what was probably a child’s room who lived there before, because of the dried-up, bleak blue paint, but it was obvious that it was much more bright at some time, and there were game board pieces on the floor, along with play things. we crawled on the windowsill, who was a faded mosaic barely letting in the sunshine, but was large enough for the both of us. almost like a small stage. he turned me around, pulled out his dick, lifted up my dress, and fucked me over the wood holding up the platform.
there was a little doll in the opposite corner. her skin was fair and cheeks were of streams pale-blood, and here crossways bones were flawless on her petite mask, with painted red on lips, and white in teeth. the pieces for her jaw lined the structure, and stretched her skin. she was beautiful, and obviously fragile. she looked like she could have been made 80 years ago, but maintained her eternal youth. she would never get old, just like we wouldn’t. i made him talk to me, because i was bad at having sex, and i didn’t want to be boring. i told him that her lips drank different things than her mind and heart did, and that people always interrupt her to tell another story because apparently her story isn’t good enough for their ears. none of her stories, and that was exhausting for her. and i thought that she was tired. i asked him what he thought she was feeling, and he said that she was emotional, and needed someone. but she wouldn’t ever have anyone for long because of how emotional she is, and how no one would live as long as she would, and to quit trying to get to the bottom of “it”. and then we kept fucking, even though i was dying to have sex with that doll and eat out her pussy until she came all over my face. but, that is stupid and would never happen.
after a few hours, and broken bones, we went outside. the sunlight was blinding, but we had to get over it. he saw a boy who he apparently knew, and i didn’t, because this was my first time in this city. he was maybe 11, and there was spaghetti all over his clothes from the dinner he was forced to eat, and dirt beneath his fingernails. we walked to a river to watch the waves, and sit in the soil. plastic-like flowers covered the surface of the water before us, which reminded him of the flowers stuck in the basket of the front of his bicycle. he lifted his skirt for us, and told the story about how he convinced his english teacher to give him an a on the test. his knees were bloody and scraped, which wasn’t something to be concerned of due to his obvious nature, but it added onto his character. which wasn’t something he needed more of. we didn’t want to see him again.
but, he wanted to make his goodbye to the child worth remembering. we went to the house and did the same thing as earlier, along with him. he asked us what we were doing, and we didn’t answer him. we knew that wasn’t a serious question because it was obvious that he knew from the stories he has told us. he wasn’t blind, or dull-minded. there were broken pieces of mirror on the ground that we noticed before, but didn’t pay much attention to. some were of course larger than others, and it seemed like someone crashed a larger mirror, and that’s why the pieces were everywhere. the boy told us that we needed to be creative, and we didn’t really know what to do because we thought that we were already strange enough, and no one has told me that before. he told us that we would be much better if we took after him. he was sad, though, because he didn’t want to have to leave afterwards, and never see us again. he was smirking when he was sad, and we wondered if his father used to drink and drive with him in the backseat, or if his mother neglected him while catering to her addiction to heroin. but, we didn’t really care, nor did we try to comfort him. so, we kept fucking. he started crying, and left. the pieces of mirror on the ground showed us, almost like through eyes of a fly, or other insect with multiples through their vision. we went slower, and slower, looking at ourselves in the mirrors. our facial expressions, bodies, and legs shaking. looking at ourselves like we were both prey, instead of just one of us. we stopped, eventually. it was cold, because night time was coming, and the house, if you wish to call it that, did not have heat, or any other first-world necessity. but, it was beautiful there, and we loved it anyway. so, we left it exactly how it was, with very little evidence that we were there. i had to go home that night. everything that happened was delicately connected, as all things are.