boundcreature

a boy and a girl in a room, one candle is lit...

its sparse light flickers on two studded belts, one big (three rows), one little (two rows) resting on the seat of an adjustable computer chair. the belts are intertwined...

wrapped...

tangled...

like the boy and the girl (man and woman?) contorted among each other's curves and sharp points, inches away on the opened futon. she has eyes like an exotic adventure tale, they give off hints of faraway places. he has deep brown eyes; lost, sensitive artist's eyes...

hours pass and their eyes never leave one another. this is the chain, the kiss is the lock, the bounty: a complete attraction...

chemical;
physical;
spiritual;
mental;

she smells good. she feels good. they follow a similar path and are keeping pace with one another.

its nightmarishly strong. its terrifying. the attraction is almost embarrassing. the eyes give it all away (they always do... its not in the kiss, you can fake a kiss... its in the eyes). how many boys has she looked at with these eyes? how many girls have i looked at with these eyes? how many lovers have we each greeted with cold, dead spiritual disinterest? can't look at each other too long, can't stare, best to sneak a peek and crawl away...

i know how much she wants me.

she knows how much i want her.

its fucked-up and scary. less than two weeks in, its already real, its already frightening...

this isn't a trial run.

this isn't a throwaway fuck.

this is another living, breathing human being, thoughts: mind: heart: soul: delicate little hands: soft white skin: cute mischievous smile...

and i come back to those eyes...

i have come to decide that the whole of her ancestry is in her eyes. that's where they left their (most visible) mark on her.

and they are looking right at me. i can't hide. if i was lying... if i was fronting... if i was in it for the skin... if i was a facade of broken hopes and dreams, she would see it...

my saving grace is that my stare is just as intense.

"you're beautiful." i say.

"i'm just a skinny girl with glasses and braces."

"you don't have braces." i say it (and in the saying, realize what she meant by the comment).

"no, thats how i still see myself, like i was in sixth grade."

"well, i was an awkward goofy kid with glasses bigger than his head back then, i wasn't much better." its true. i was. ask the pants if you don't believe me.

"i wish i knew you in sixth grade. i would've been your friend."

"that would've been hard," i say, "i was shy and scared and all i cared about was reading X-FORCE comics."

"i loved X-FORCE, i was DOMINO for halloween one year." she says it, i think she knows exactly how amazing the moment is...

so, all i can think of saying, is to tell her that " i would've liked to be DEADPOOL, even though SHATTERSTAR was my favorite. y'know, in issue two, when DEADPOOL and SHATTERSTAR fought, that always bummed me out..."

"cuz SHATTERSTAR loses?" she says...

"yeah, cuz DEADPOOL wiped the floor with him, and i thought SHATTERSTAR was tougher than that."

and...

after all the staring....

after all the romantic notions...

i come to realize,

that the beautiful girl in my arms, in my bed, the girl who carried my eyes from room to room at the party tonight (holy ca-fuck i can't believe i came here with HER!!!), this beautiful little cuban girl...

is a gigantic geek.

and its not so scary anymore.

and i feel warm and safe opening myself up to her.

and i'm just, for the life of me, fucking baffled that i finally get a shot with a girl like this. and i don't believe in luck, so i guess its just a matter of time until a guy that wakes up everyday trying to be the best he can be, meets a girl who is worthy of this effort.

less than two weeks in. what's good now can be great in one year. what's good now can be shit in one month. time and actions hold the answers, not words in an online journal.

time will tell.

If I gave you everything that I own
and asked for nothing in return
Would you do the same for me, as I would for you?
Or take me for a ride
and strip me of everything, including my pride
But spirit is something that no one destroys

-TRAFFIC, "The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys"
last nights soundtrack.

***

its getting late already. i want her out of my head, but i want to keep just a little bit in the back of my mind. i have to go be an artist now...

i have not been more excited about my career at any point in the last five years.