I had a dream last night, I remember it vaguely.

It was dark and cold. You were there besides me. You had your red hat on, with the brim facing toward the back, with a white bandanna underneath for grip because your head was to small. You had a red shirt on and black baggy pants. You were white, but you pulled off the gangster look quite well. I smiled at it.

Your eyes were a hypnotic sense of blue, and your face was a beautiful gust of perfection and serenity. Your nose was cute, shaped like the king’s would want. The structure of your face, lay perfectly under the flawless of your skin. I brushed my hands against you cheek, shivers engulf my spine.

I looked into your eyes, your beautiful, beautiful eyes, and looked right through to the back of your brain. It was confused, worried. You were filled with the despair of the past that life has given you. You have become unsure of your life and unsure of your words. You follow through with every punch and every kick, but when the lights close and the life slows and it’s just you and the mirror, your eyes spite a sight of a man that is a failure. This I do not agree. I stare into your eyes, your pupil grows in the shape of a heart, this is what I see from you. I see your beauty, and I accept your pain, and I grab it as my own as I hold on to your weary stature, and only for moment, we are nothing but 18-year-old lovers, destined for the ways of foreverness.

I close my eyes for a moment and rest my head on your chest and listen to the soft music of your slow beating heart. It creates an sanctum, a Hawaii for my ears, heart, soul, and for the first time in a long time, I am at peace with life and everything in it.

I bless for the time that we have together to never end, and I beg the lord to never allow me to wake again and grace me with the presence of this amazing man. I beg to God with everything that I have to never let me awake, never let me move, never let me feel pain. Please. Never again. Just let me be here, on this mans chest. Let me hold his body for a little longer, please.

Please.

I am awoken by the booming sound of my father’s voice. It is time for me to live on, and I sigh in weariness. I know that it was only a dream, and I know that I am just fooling myself wanting that to be my life, but a dream is a wish, a wish is a thought, a thought can be processed, and a procedure can be done.
So I am forced to lay here on the softness of my bed with the plugs of my ear buds shoved into my ear and I listen to your voice, over and over, as it speaks to me in ways that even God himself couldn’t sway with my heart if he bent down from the heavens and whispered them into my ears.

I am in love with something that can never be.
I am in love with a man that is 2 times my age. I am in love with a man that lives on the other side of the country.
I am in love with the word and the voice and the sight of this man, and even though he will never be mine, I will still love him with every beat of my heart.
I love Marshall Bruce Mathers III, and if that’s sick, I don’t want to go to the hospital.