the last brushstroke destroys the painting [muke af]

thirty one

thirty one

The love of Michael's life is dead. He has been dead for one month, and Michael is not okay.

Michael is not okay at all. He is so far from content that he believes he is going insane. Michael is so far from satisfied that he stares at Luke's art, not understanding how such a beautiful boy could hold so much pain.

Everyone was right. Michael knows it. Everyone was right. The most self-destructive thing a human being is able to do is put their happiness into another human. Humans leave, everyone leaves.

Sometimes they walk out of your life, sometimes the swallow too many pills.

Michael's nails scrape at his cheekbones as he curls into a ball on the floor of his studio. Luke was so talented, so beautiful. He was Michael's universe.

Michael's universe is dead.