Je t'aime.

The boy resembled that invisible force of love that I was fed through large amounts of static every day. He was standing at the train station with a leather jacket on, which wasn’t complementary to the type of imagery I was fixin’ to pretend he was interchangeable with. Regardless, I swallowed my relation with him; this connection was something frail and our eyes would meet only when we were brave to let them. He liked the red of my coat and seemed to look down at my feet, so as to keep in contact. There was a brief moment when our hands touched, due to the way in which we were standing. He leaned down, masking it as some sort of horrible accident. We smiled soft.

The weight of time buried down on us, and he began pacing back and forth. There was a black suitcase that he had sitting near by. I wondered what was inside, but didn’t force any sort of definite idea. It’s best not to do that, when you’re busy cradling parts of a dream. It’s best to just let the shape of things, pull tight and wash you under, all nice and lazy. It’s the effort of trying to clarify stuff, that ruins what is distant and atmospheric. So why try to do that?

When the train finally arrived, he scraped something hard against the bottom of one limb. We both released a quick “I’m sorry” simultaneously. What was his gift however, was when he followed this with a gentle “fuck”. It sounded like a puff of smoke, and I noticed a bagged instrument in one of his hands. It was quite small and assumed to be a mandolin or something. Standing side-by side, we let the outside of our shoes touch. There lingered a sincere hunger.

I told myself that if he got out at 42nd Street like I did, I’d try talking to him. He didn’t though. He disappeared just like all the rest. I felt like he was just really the ghost of that other boy I let haunt me. In fact I knew this to be true. I thanked the sky for that moment I had. It was something tangible and I knew that this other boy, this other unreachable entity that I had constantly in mind, was some kind of miracle. I felt no need to justify this. I just knew it was true. He was a tasty kind of sunshine. I didn’t need his hand in mine to know that.