tonight we were in your room again, and you were playing your guitar to me. and i laughed at your concentrating face and you told me to stop looking at you because i was distracting you from your playing.
so i watched your fingers instead, moving so fast along the frets. and i asked if you had sore fingers and if they ever bled, and you said "they're bleeding now."
i'm bleeding, too, just out of my heart, not my fingers. every time i look at you when you're so immersed in passion, my heart breaks just a little bit more. not a bad hurt, though. the kind of good hurt, like when you're stretching your muscles after exercise. it hurts, but it's a good kind of pain.
it hurts when you look at me and smile at my happiness. you're happy that your music gives me joy, and it does. our friend joked tonight that if we dated, our entire relationship would be just like we were then: me sitting on your bed, listening to you play, and you smiling because you know the thing that brings you great joy also brings me great joy.
my heart started to bleed when you kept looking at me like that. blood started to seep through the cracks because it couldn't hold my joy any longer. the blood coated my hands and my stomach and the soles of my feet, and when i touched you, you started bleeding, too.
tell me that you feel this, because i want to do this forever. i want my heart to burst every time you look at me. it's a good kind of hurt, a beautiful kind of blood.
