FINCH
My friends are not their title. It's not like I'm ungrateful for them because I'm not. I can never be. I mean for a guy whose title is a 'freak', it's much of a relief. But I can't help but think and when I think, I just think. And I hate it sometimes that now my mind cannot focus on anything else rather than what I'm thinking about. Which is, a friend is not any of them but her. Who looks inside of me past all the madness. Like a soul who can only ever do good. She makes me feel that harmless. Almost human. I want to believe it'll stay that way but my brain and my body and my blood know better than to stay. My sadness resembles that of a melancholy boy who has not yet measured how much of it is there. There's nothing to make me last a long time. I am not made for it. But she is. And I see it inside of her just like she sees the purity in me. I want to believe her but if there is something I can believe, it's that she is meant for bigger, better things. I wish I could say all this to her but I assume I'll be long gone by then. So I want her to stay instead. And see the world that was meant for her to see. It won't make me last a long time but it might save the light behind her eyes.