He was wild, or at least he said to be, he pretended, not to impress, but to hide. He said he did everything that came to his mind, everyone admired him. He was trapped in a cage, a cage where he could see the outside world, he was amazed with everything he observed, he actually only saw what he liked, acts of rebellion, he venerated them. Because up to the age he lived, he did't lived, he was dead deep inside. He was not wild.
He was agonizing, because he knew he was not the wild human being as everyone thought he was. He wanted to be innovative, to be a leader. Inside his imaginary world he would create himself as a revolutionary, as someone with no fear, he would scream, destroy, get high, I guess it just smells like teen spirit. But in the real world he was not able to do non of that, he didn't really know why, since he was really woke and clever to organize such things, but something was tied to his feet and hands, called fear.
Trapped inside, he enjoyed the comfort of looking at people, people he liked, people he was attracted to, he felt secure in there. As the years went by, he discovered this act, was called "love". For the first time, he felt identified with something. By that time, there was someone who was driving him crazy, the brigthness of his green eyes, the warmth of his smile, the softness of his light-brown skin, and the charm of his voice, oh dear. Everytime he thought of him, he felt fire inside him. But he was not able to reach him, and was then when he discovered pain. He spent many gloomy days, just imagining a life with him, imagining how pleasant it would be, to feel him, to hear him, and to be loved back. This was really hurting him more and more, because the more he believed, the more he suffered, the more it destroyed him.
He saw him every single day, across the corridor, but having to ignore him. One day, as he was walking on a winter morning, he was interrupted, someone touched his back, he turned arround, there he was, the boy he was deeply attracted to. The boy gave him his hand and talked, he actually didn't listen to what he was saying. He was lost in the beauty of his eyes, as the sun shined on his face, he had that casual smile he always carried arround the corridor, the boy laughed a little bit.
The next weeks, he found himself in his usual ficticious land, where he repeated that winter morining scene, over and over. He felt in a state of ease in there, it went far beyond his head, he could actually feel it in his skin, he could sense his smell, it was real. But as soon as he opened his eyes, he had to deal with the fact that it was just impossible.
He wanted to be free, to get out of that painful cage, but how? How could he express his emotions, but not being unveiled?
He took a heavy fountain pen, and with a dark blue ink, a story appeared.
I left something of myself in all those words, some of my pains, some of my fears, some of my anger, some of my sadness, but now I want to add the missing piece to my story, bescuse I can't hold it any longer, because it's tearing me down, because I don't want to hide anymore, because I just want to say "I love you".
To M
