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I'm in love .I'm in love with my best friend his name is Mike and every time I see him I feel butterflies inside me, I feel my bones like if they were made of sponges, I can tell a stupid smile spread all over my face and I blush like a girl (that's really embarrassing) but I can't tell him I like him because:
First: he doesn't know I'm gay
Second: I'm afraid he'll reject me
Third: I don't even know if he's gay!
So as you see, I can't tell him, I'm in love with him besides, if he was gay I'm sure he wouldn't say yes on going out with me cuz I'm like this really dork guy, I'm short, I don't have a lot of friends but him he's tall, handsome and even though he doesn't have a lot of friends, he's well known in our high school! Maybe one day I'll have the guts to ask him out meanwhile I'll just day dream and fan girl over him
"Hey BJ! How you doing?" I shook my head and returned to reality as my best friend Gerard spoke to me,
Bike - NecklacesFebruary fourteen and I was single.
Of course that wouldn't last long. Or I hoped so. I had planned to ask the guy I had had a crush on for a time out, and to be honest, I wasn't really scared he would reject me. I met him when we were 11 years old kids, in a school's cafeteria. Since I met him, I considered him as someone adorable; since we met, he was a quite short guy. I could easily pull him against my chest.
He had incredibly big eyes of a bright hazel colour, and his eyelashes were just perfect. His cheeks were so soft one wished to caress them the whole day, and his giggles were simply perfect, melody to my ears, music to my soul, and let's not talk about his smile because I could take easily hours explaining how much I loved it. His hair was black, longish short, and he usually had eyeliner.
His name? Billie. Billie Joe. What a wonderful name. I, however, didn't start feeling that much for him the first years of friendship. He was always my best friend, but by when we were abou
.Marking His Territory.Billie let out a long soft exhale, the gentle emptying of his lungs in a hushed whisper. His lips curved into a sweet smile, features smooth and serene as he admired the sleeping form beside him. His jade irises twinkled against the subtle amber sunlight, just barely peaking through the thin veil of the curtains. A thin strip lay haphazardly across his lover's chest, illuminating the porcelain complexion of Gerard's flesh. He truly looked like a fallen angel amongst the midst of sleep, eyelids smoothed over and eyelashes swooped low, the smudge of charcoal against a flawless cheekbone, petal pink lips parted with deep, even breaths.
Carefully, Billie reached forward, the tendons in his fingers tingling with the desire to touch, to feel. Softly, he ran his fingertips along the supple skin of his husband's forehead, gliding against a perfectly chiselled nose and tracing the curve of full, talented lips. Gerard remained still underneath the sweet caress, sleeping peacefully without distur
The Only Hope For Me Is You - A Billierard Ch. 1 I set the knife against my thin, pale, wrist, somewhere it has been many times before. I let the cold metal slide across the soft skin, leaving behind blood. It traces the somewhat faded lines of past incidents with the same knife until the drops fall onto the already-stained carpet of my bedroom.
I hear shouting outside my bedroom door. They're fighting again, Mikey and my dad. I'm glad it's not me out there, but at the same time I'm scared for my brother. I just hope my dad's not doing to Mikey what he does to me when our fights get this bad. I doubt he would. He hates me more than he hates Mikey. Mikey talked me into telling my dad that I was gay, and he's never looked at me the same way ever since.
Mikey was straight. Mikey was normal. Everyone loved Mikey. Then there was me: an outcast. That weird kid with long black hair who wears skinny jeans and loves comic books. That's what I'm known for
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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