He is not a boy.
I found him in the corner with small voice;
And such beauty in his psyche.
He said he cried,
The moment he knew what I made him feel.
For the first time; I didnt doubt.
He found me rare, I found him exquisite.
His hands shakes as he hold his cigarette between his fingers, mumbles words he would like to say but dont want me to hear. He wet his lips using his tounge everytime we talk. He has pale skin and big sad eyes. He asks me how was my weekend and he would clutch his hands to mine whenever my voice breaks.
He has the language of a hundred year old, I didnt found a boy. I found a soul, lost and tired.
Just like me, we were both looking for something we dont know; though we are not sure if it exists. The only thing we hold on to is our impulsiveness. The intuition inside our chest that maybe its just somewhere there, that we had probably overlooked it - or perhaps we already had a glimpse of it but chose to ignore.
Fel is his his name, he got it from his father. My name means holy.
What if there is another us somewhere then they managed to find what they been looking for?
Sometimes, I wonder: What could have happen if I chose those big sad eyes?
2018