Sunflowers and Tulips

James' POV

T is for thrush, thimble, and time. Your smile lights my world every single morning. There’s nothing that can compare to it. I know it’s wrong for me to see this way, but every single time I see your pink lips curl upwards, I can’t help but feel like a thrush, singing a song of love and heart break. The way your eyes sparkle make me think of the ocean, glistening from the sunlight and as wild as the wind lets you be. But there’s always this hidden power in you, like crashing waves against the hard, grainy rocks of life that bar your way from happiness.

The more I think about you, the more I want to say that you’re my thimble. You protect me from anything that could be potentially harmful, even though I’m the one that’s supposed to be protecting you. There is no way in hell I will let you slip from my grasp, my printed finger. Your stitches—your pain—are clearly evident the more I use you, the more I feel you. But you’re as strong as the metal you’re made of: basically indestructible. Only time will tell when you finally realize that we are meant to be. The torturous minutes of each day tick down. I talk to you every day and pray to God that the light you once had would come back into your gorgeous eyes and you can one day see that you are supposed to be with me. Only time will tell.

U is for unfortunate, umbrella, and ugly. Unfortunate events have defined your past. Your mother leaving, your year in poverty, you and your father’s struggles to get that trailer you now call home. But no matter what, I can still see some determination. I know you deserve better and I will fight till the very end in order for you to see that you are worth it. Sadly, that might not ever happen. But for now, I will be your big, black umbrella. My sleek exterior protects you from the outside world, the rain. It’s like your cover. I could easily engulf you in my arms, so why can’t this umbrella cover you from anything harmful completely? I can only hope.

U is also for ugly. Every single day, I wish I could be as beautiful as you. Your tan skin that glows like the sun looks like it’s covered in pure happiness. Every step you take is full of confidence and you radiate sympathy and love for all of those who are unfortunate. You are beautiful on the inside and out.

L is for lips, lying, and lilacs. Lips can be easily read by me. The simple action of smiling tells me you’re happy, the heart-wrenching sight of your frown tells me you’re upset. Usually it’s with me. Your lips are as pink as a rose, and I honestly wish that they would feel like roses when I finally man up and kiss you. But you’re not ready for that because you can’t come to terms with how you feel. You’re lying to yourself all the time and it just kills me to see you be tortured by your own mind. The lies pass your lips as easily as a football passes from my hand to another’s. I know it tastes sour on your tongue, so why do it?

Tulips are some of your favourite flowers, and they do reflect you in some way. They’re very open and free, like a prairie. However, tulips are by far your favourite, and they describe you the most. They fit with you perfectly. Tulips are so closed off from the world, but beautiful on the outside. It’s the inside people want to know about, but only few ever get a chance to see it.

I is for ignorance, igloo, and insults. In your case, ignorance is really bliss. If you knew that I loved you, you wouldn’t be able to handle it. We both know that our…situation is different than a lot of other people’s. We aren’t accepted by society, whatever we are. But what you do with your precious life is yours. You live like you’re in an igloo in the Arctic: alone, cold, and terrified of the unknown. There’s some unknown warmth in you, though. I can feel it.

Insults get you nowhere with me, and you know that. No matter how much you call me…inappropriate things, I will never take it to heart because I know you, and I know that you never mean anything you say. You’re just afraid to admit the truth about yourself, and you take most of your anger out on me. But that’s alright; I’ll take whatever you dish out because the honest truth is that I love you.

P is for possibilities, pages, and perfection. The fear I see in your eyes every day honestly terrifies me to the very core. Sadly I don’t know what you’re so afraid of, but I wish I could. I really just want to take you in my arms and hold you, rock you back and forth and coo in your ear, saying that everything will be alright. There are many possibilities, outcomes for us. There’s no telling what could/should happen. It’s a scary thought, isn’t it? Not knowing whether or not we will survive in this close-minded world. Sometimes I like to think that the world is like colours; there are so many diverse shades and hues and all together, it creates beauty. Such beauty that can only be defined by one thing and one thing only: you.
Pages upon pages of literature define this world just as fine as ink on paper. Sometimes it’s perfect clear, curly calligraphy that you can see as clear as day. Other times, the ink is smudged and blotted, making the reading difficult. However, it’s the story that matters. Each person has a story, and our stories intertwine with each other ideally.

I don’t know why, but for some reason you are made to perfection. Your barely defined muscles, your small stature, your long, blonde hair that glimmers like a pile of gold, your sapphire blue eyes that twinkle with such delight; it’s all perfect in my eyes. No matter how much you make me angry or upset, no matter how much I cry for you, I know somewhere in the back of my mind that you are made for me and me alone. Who cares what people think? I sure don’t.

Somehow, for some odd reason, when I look at you, I think of a tulip. Just one single, perfect tulip that sways and bends with the wind, an opposing force. In this case, you’re a yellow, beautiful, vibrant flower that cannot (and should not) be picked, plucked from the earthy ground you call home. There is only one of you. And that is good enough for me.

Your petals are multiple colours, just like your moods and overall personality. They feel like silk to the touch, smooth and slick. The feel of you on my fingertips (in a totally un-perverted way) calms be down whenever I get upset. Your hands are always cold, but warming to the touch. It’s extremely hard to describe. Even though your hands are cold, it feels as if it’s warming my soul. I’m already extremely fragile—you of all people should know that—and just a single crack could totally shatter me. You’re a little bit stronger; you can take a few hits before you fall. But it’s still the same. Both of us combined can only mean disaster.

We’re disastrously perfect for each other, and that’s the honest truth.

I sighed, putting down my pen and looking at the finished piece of work. Honestly, I’m satisfied. I know it seems like I’m extremely dramatic (let’s face it, I am a Drama King), but this letter came from my heart and that’s good enough for me. Hopefully Braedon will understand. I just need some times to rethink things; not only have I been neglecting my little sister and grandparents, but I have also been putting off my school work and facing the football team. This will not go down well.

Not only did Braedon completely distract me from my duties as a man, but also made me weak on the inside. I can’t stand it. I was so strong before he took my mind off of everything. Before I fell in love. And now, it’s too late. Things will never be the same. I have to pick my grades up, take care of my sister, Liola, and now debate on whether or not I should go back to Braedon. This will take a lot of time and consideration, but hopefully I know what is the best thing to do and in the process try not to totally fuck myself over. But I can only hope, huh?

I stood up from my chair and walked out of my smelly bedroom, stepping onto the cool wooden ground in my grandparents’ house. It was more like my own personal Hell. However, I had no choice but to obey their rules and commands. Sadly, one of those rules is “Don’t be like one of those fags.” Well…that’s kind of late notice, huh? Oh well. They can deal with me being gay. Or partially gay. I don’t know what I am. Maybe I’m just gay for Braedon. But then again, I wouldn’t really mind being with a guy.

So I guess the bottom line is that I’m bisexual. That doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea. Both guys and girls…it’s the best of both worlds. Twice the chance, twice the love, but double the heartbreak. But I guess I can see when I go back to school. I just need to…go back to the hospital.

Shit.

How stupid could I be!? Why did I leave the hospital? My leg hurts like hell and it’s starting to bleed again. So, I climbed into my new, rusty, crap truck and drove off, heading towards the hospital. Hopefully I can make things right with Braedon before I do anything I will regret…