Leeway // Joe Mazzello

36|| "Delicate"

Octavia's guide to the hell that is the English language

CAPTIVATE
/ˈkaptəˌvāt/

(v.) attract and hold the interest and attention of; charm.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joe may of had his clever little picture diary that he thought she was blissfully unaware of, but she had something much more devious, more hidden, more tangible. Octavia had been keeping detailed descriptors of things since she was nine. She felt she had gotten pretty good at writing, especially when there were an infinite amount of things to write about Joe.

On their first night in Italy, as he was washing off the cryptic dust from their tour of ancient Rome, she wrote:

"Dear Diary,
I am too old to be saying this.

I have grown fond of writing his name as Joseph instead of Joe. Perhaps it is the elegant grace with which he moves, or the refined air that surrounds him like a halo, but it seems impossible to imagine him as anything but Joseph. The name Joe, with its rough edges and unpolished sound, would simply not do for one so ethereal in these writings.

As he speaks, his voice is like music, a lilting melody that weaves its way through the air, enchanting all who hear it. He has a way of tilting his head, a playful gesture that hints at a mischievous spirit lurking just beneath the surface.

And yet, there is a sense of melancholy to Joseph, a hint of sadness that lurks at the edges of his smile. It is as though he has known great love and great loss, and carries with him the weight of all he has seen and felt.

In the end, I am left with a feeling of both admiration and pity, for Joseph is a rare and precious thing, a creature of immense beauty and tender spirit, who reminds us all of the fleeting nature of life and the power of love.

I mean to ask him about his family someday, to learn more about the roots from which this complex and captivating being has sprung forth. I imagine stories of a childhood spent singing in the streets, of boisterous family gatherings filled with laughter and music. And yet, I cannot help but fear what I may uncover, for the sadness that lingers in his eyes hints at a darkness that may lie hidden within his past.

But for now, I am content simply to bask in his presence, to watch as he moves through the world with a grace and ease that seems almost otherworldly.

And so I will continue to listen to his words, to hope to see him dance and sing and share his gifts with the world. For in doing so, I am reminded that even in the darkest of times, there is always beauty to be found, and that the human spirit is capable of enduring and overcoming even the greatest of tragedies."

She felt maybe she was treating him like a case study, but after studying psychology for awhile, she couldn't help but analyze people as she does, and having an untapped knack for words left her with no outlet but to write alone in her inconspicuous journal. She thought maybe if she kept it long enough it would end up in a museum to describe what womanhood was like in the modern century- still writing about some silly little guy in her silly little diary.

She could hear Joe was done in the shower as the tap had turned off and his feet hit the cool tiled floor. She put her book away quickly and took to swiping on her phone. He came out wrapped in a towel, hair still dripping. To get her attention, he shook his head like a wet dog, splattering water everywhere.