He was the boy that I had spent nights creating and making real with words I had stolen from the love stories that lived on my nightstand and flashed across my television.
He was the boy that sent shivers down my spine when his fingers touched the back of my hand as we walked through crowded streets full of people who were searching for their own hand to hold.
He was the boy that filled my head with thoughts of him late at night and no matter how many times the moon warned me of his poison, I still drank it anyways.
He was the boy that stole my eyes from the stars and my heart from the sun with a grin that always seemed to touched his whiskey colored eyes.
He was the boy that made me want put away my running shoes and breathe in the idea that standing still didn’t mean I was trapped.
He was the boy that made me jealous by flirting with life and made me envious of the way his simply being alive gave life to anyone around him.
And he was the boy that didn’t belong to me. He was the boy that touched my heart, but he was also the boy whose hair I couldn’t run my fingers through or whose arms I couldn’t enfold myself in. He was the boy who could simply laugh and send my stomach into chaos, but he was also the boy who left me with no more than a hug that ended far too soon and a storm cloud in my heart. He was the boy who invaded my dreams and filled them with images that fell apart the minute reality pushed through the darkness into my eyelids. He was the boy I had waited for, only to find out that his kisses were already out of stock and his heart already belonged to the girl with the watch that told time faster than mine.
