chris, chris, chris. oh i could drown myself in his words.
the first thing that comes to mind when i think chris is perfect. chris is the perfect concoction of everything god poured into our world.
his blood is elderflower wine
his eyes are the remnants of cracked skies
his hair is the golden wheat of rumpelstiltskin
his skin is tendered by the gentle breezes of time
he is my angel; he is perfection; and i cannot live without
another taste of his soul.
but what beauty he owns on the outside leads to a simply
d y i n g
core.
chris was once beautiful on the inside. but the hand of another had grabbed onto his heart. but she was not enough for him. for she was now drinking his elderflower blood. she was ruining his sky-eyes, tearing away his golden hair. his skin is now rough and faded; angry and alone.
i don't recognize the boy
i used to love.