When we love. (English Monologue)
I’ve never been good at talking about how I’m feeling, and I think it’s because I feel too much, and if I tried to explain how I feel when he touches me is like my heart trying to escape from my ribcage so it can be free to love him completely, it’d come out wrong.
He was from Alabama. Birmingham to be exact. He was so full of soul, and even though he wasn't perfect, he was enough. He claimed to have a cold heart, always pushing me away, and I guess when he poured his love into me, he was pouring ice. I didn't mind it though.
He was a drug dealer. He claimed to fancy getting high more than getting intoxicated to numb his pain. I knew he drank every once in a while but I wasn't going to judge him. I'd smell it on his breath when he would come through my window at 3 am, fending for my love and affection.
He had his way with words and even though he wasn't much of a talkative person, he'd always hit me with a ton of words. He wrote poems, hearing them when he was high was heaven on earth. He was an introvert, He was depressed. He told me how he felt alone in a room full of his peoples.
He lied a lot, he lied so much that I knew when he was lying. yeah, he was good at writing and laying low, but he was a damn good liar. He never lied when we had our 3AM talks when we talked about our desires and things that urged seriousness. anything else, he'd lie about. he hated how transparent he seemed to me, but I loved it.
He's considerate and that's what got my parents to adore him. Not many people will spare someone's feelings, but he does it all the time. He stops himself from doing many things because he knows that I wouldn’t approve. But the other half, I can't blame him for trying to survive. He barely pulled a smile, but when he did, it was a beautiful sight.
He was insecure too and the weed didn't help at all. His insecurities spoke for him and there were many of them, they consumed him. He was paranoid, which is why I often caught him sneaking into my room, through my window at odd times. He was a good person, just learning, that's all. We cling to music, to poems, to quotes, to writing just to not feel as alone, we don't want to be alone because the feelings are still there even when the courage isn’t.
One night, as I held him close to me, he asked me, "would you die for me?" it caught me off guard and before I could think about the question, to give him an answer, he brought me from my thoughts. "naw, that's too easy, would you live for me?" and the truth is, as long as he goes through hell and back for me, I'm going to be his closure, his release.
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