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He is one of the most beautiful, amazing, sensitive, genuine people I have ever met. He'll share his thoughts and ideas and history and hobbies, and it's all breathtakingly beautiful. I yearn for him, to spend time with his head in my lap, stroking his skin and listening to him talk, or being still with music softly playing in the background. To trace every scar, to read the story of his body. He's incredibly attractive, but it honestly has so little to do with physical appearance...his internal beauty is indescribable.
But his eyes. His pain is written deep within them, and even when he's smiling and being silly, if you look hard enough, you can see it. And once you've seen it, you can't unsee it. There's a sense of the weight of life pulling down on his slender frame, in a way that reminds you of every great artist who's ever died young. It's mesmerizing, and utterly terrifying. I spend much of my time worrying, wanting to hold him and reassure him that there is good in the world, that he is good, that he is loved for who he is, not what he gives or does. But sometimes that weight he carries crushes him. Sometimes I add to that weight, unintentionally, and it feels like kicking a kitten. He is beautiful and fragile, and I want nothing more than to hold him and bandage his wounds, to be his legs when he feels he cannot stand.
But I can't. It's not physically possible, or emotionally possible, for so many reasons. But I care. God, do I care. I feel like a bully for caring, like somehow my caring only makes it worse, but I don't know what else to do. He's so bright, and so goddamn beautiful.
Someone pick a major for me. Requirements: good career path, allows me to make -just- enough money to survive (and not a penny more), allows me to spend time with my daughter after I graduate (no 60+hr/wk).