All These Words That I Could Never Say

Gustav knew his friends hated to see him cry. 
But he couldn't give a fuck about being caught now.
He let out another heartbreaking sob, kicked a chair down as he searched for a pen and paper, mumbling in a voice turned high-pitched with the tears. 

"I don't care a-anymore..."

He grabbed what he needed in a draw, and sat at the desk brutally, flattening the page on the wood. 
He unlidded the pen, and his trembling hand led the tip to the paper. 
His tears crashed onto the page, as new ones rushed out of his blue eyes. 
All his words in his head were driving him insane, destroying all. He needed to write them down. 
He had learnt to ignore the feeling of shame that washed over him when he poured his heart out like that. 
His pen slowly started to form letters in blue ink on the white sheet of paper. The pace accelerated, his hand tensing more and more, his knuckles turning white as the flow of words hurled out of him by the pen. 
His eyes were widening each second, his breathing sporadic and choked, and every word written down made him look crazier. 
He rested his head in his other hand, propped on his elbows, his fingers gripping at his mane of chocolate brown hair. 
The tears slid down his pale cheeks and to his chin, dripping from it and into his neck and shirt or on the desk. 
And he wrote, and wrote undefinitely, until he couldn't write no more. Until all the words were out.

He slowly put his pen down and looked at the window of the cheap hotel room he sat in.

The warm morning light filtered through the beige curtains and hit Gus's ice blue irises.

And suddenly everything made sense again.