When you just need some peace: self harm isn't what most people think it is

He walked away

His voice is so deep and sincere. He speaks of nothing but himself, though. His hair is almost longer than mine. It's always so soft you can barley keep your hands in it. His hair is brown with blonde streaks in it, not quite highlights, but close. It is straight, but curls up at the ends. He wears a beanie most of the time, so you can't see the beauty that is his hair. The beanie he wears also covers his gorgeous face. His brown eyes blend into his black pupils and stand away from the white. His long, black eyelashes surround his eyes. Every time you see them, you get lost. You are no longer on earth but in his head, his soul, you are with him and no one can prove that anything else exists. Not the ground you are standing on, not the sun keeping you warm. Nothing. He is tall and has to look down to you. His freckles dance on his face, his lips are pink and soft. His arms are long and engulf anyone they surround. His hugs are tall, big, and warm. You never want to let go. His hands are huge and hold yours inside them. They keep you by his side and don't let you leave. His stomach has no muscle, and he covers it up with shirts that never come up. His pants don't leave his thighs, his belts don't leave his pants. He wears a bright red shoelace tied around his right ankle, around his pants sometimes, too. His black shoes have brick red laces in them and are ruffed up and broken. They have holes everywhere and are stained. He is everything to you, and yet you are nothing to him.