i met a boy who was not for the faint of heart.
i saw him while taking a train to god knows where. it was 2 A.M. and the seats were always empty. the whispers of the city seeped through the glass and kept me when i was at my lonesome, even when i didn't want them with me. rarely, there was another person in there with me.
if there was, they were certainly not human. or real.
he walked past those hissing doors, eyes cast downwards and glazed over with exhaustion (or had it been just devoid of life). his eyes were also a duo of melting rubies, molten lava. there was an that could probably burn through skin like acid, and he looked like he was on the verge of spitting out everything that was wrong with the world. he looked like he wanted to see something burn.
a sad guy, i thought. a sad guy with bullets in his heart.
a candle flame that could not be taken out. a heart that could not be mended. a hand that is scarred and bloody. an empty 2 A.M. train where the city whispers your sins and sometimes the time of your death. an empty sidewalk. i thought he was the moment where one didn't take the hand when it was offered to them. a missed chance. that's what he was.
"how unfortunate," i muttered.
but i was sure he burned things. made things explode with just his eyes. seemed like the type. a king with falling ashes behind him, his burning kingdom, his shattered heart.
who knew what this boy could do when the tears are running down his cheeks? i could feel the world fall apart at the seams when this boy cries, i could hear his sobbing in my dreams when i got off on my stop. and i see him every time i take a trip from nowhere to home. (how annoying). i see him and he's always angry and crying. i'm afraid that the world would be set aflame if he were to walk it.
and what angel could be filled with so much rage and tears? it was this one.
"you're such a fool," i said to him once, sneering. he looks up at me, blood moon eyes brimming with sparkling tears. "who's help are you begging for? no one can't save you here."
and this, was the wrong thing to say.
he's in my personal space, grabbing the collar of my shirt, picking me up and shoving me against the wall, my head slamming against it.
his eyes are pretty. pretty and sad.
"go away," i advised. "you're in the wrong place for help."
he clenches his jaw. a tear falls.
"get out before someone else gets you. someone will feast on your tears, on your anger. anger is an energy, they will consume you until you are less than nothing. someone looking pretty crying alone on a train – you're the perfect target for gods and monsters."
but i couldn't say that.
i swallowed.
"this place really can't save you, angel." he swallowed his jaw, tightening his grip on my shirt. "just take a look at me. i haven't been saved."
look at the darkness in my eyes, the bruises that never healed. can you hear the bitter cries of my battered soul and the dead beats of heartless songs carved into my skin? can you see the scars of when i crawled on glass? the scar on my lips, the cut in my brow. the flickering stars in the void of my soul.
the city will beat you until you couldn't cry anymore.
he scrutinizes me. "why should i trust you?"
"god, please don't. don't trust anyone here," i said. "just listen to me and get out of here. find help somewhere else."
he lets me go and i slump against the wall, my heart pounding. the train doors open and the boy leaves. disappointment makes a home in my chest, knowing that i will never see him again.
i hope that no one takes him and his angel tears.
this place was not for the faint of heart.
