He looked at her. Looked at her like she was his salvation.
the thoughts in his mind weren't always welcome.
All day he would be happy and smiling and joking around and when the sun set his mood would descent along with the sun. Darkness spilled into his mind drowning out the last rays of sunshine.
It would always be at a poor time. Like when he got drunk, like tonight.
He stared into the flames of our bonfire for hours. Watching the tongues of fire completely devour everything in it's path. And he started taking a liking to the all-consuming destroyer.
I think he liked watching the burn because he could relate. He was hurting too.
He told me "I don't wanna think right now, because I don't like my thoughts."
"Well, isn't it your thoughts? Just think something else."
"It's just, I really had no friends before 9th grade."
And he reached out like that. Like a toddler wanting attention for the painful masterpiece he'd created. As if, he was dying just to see me feel sorry for him. Maybe he just wanted to hear me say I was there. Beside him.
I know he told other people before. Other girls. About his hurtful story of where he came from. When I first heard it I refused to believe it. I refused to believe that his extraordinary mind had seen other than beauty, but as he stared into the flames, the light was reflected in his eyes.
Like every other masterpiece, he was broken. Broken in the most beautiful way.
For I was able to tell, as the only one, how he had changed. He, who used to be so depressed and so, so lonely was no longer held down by anyone. He had from his childhood experienced more pain than pleasure. Thinking he was worthless, he hit his teenage years and finally touched rock bottom. Only to pick himself up from the dirt, and slowly piece himself together. Only to realize that he was indeed worth it.
"Well... You got friends now? That's the only thing that really matters."
"Do I really though?"
"You've got me."
