My Beautiful Boy

There was this boy I knew so many years ago, and he was beautiful. As effeminate as it all sounds to you or anyone else who didn't know him the way I did, there was no other word that could be used to describe the looks he had. It was beauty, pure beauty.

That boy was beautiful

He had onyx black hair that I had seen him style on many different occasions, to this day you'll still hear me swear up and down that it was softer than the wisps of white clouds you'd see in the sky everyday. Even on the days where I'd hear him huff and curse at the mirror because his hair wouldn't go the way he wanted it to, no matter how many times he brushed or flat ironed it, I still thought he looked absolutely stunning.

He had these deep icy ices that I had looked into every time we spoke, and just like the first time, I'd get lost so easily in their depth. When he outlined them with that smoky look he always wore, it just seemed to make them deeper, deep enough to drown in. Sometimes I believed that he could look right through me, those eyes of his making me bare and naked beneath his smoldering gaze. That was the only way he could have been able to read me as well as he had on the rare occasions that I actually thought I could get away with lying to him. He knew me better than that.

He had these legs that seemed to just go on for miles and miles, I often trailed behind him just to watch them move with such delicacy and grace that he seemed to possess so naturally, whether he was dancing around on the stage or merely walking back to the bus, it was always so enchanting to see him move. My favorite was when he used to wear tight leather pants that almost seemed to be a second skin the way they hugged him. When I look back on it now, it amazes me that he managed to get himself in and out of those things as easily as he could, chances are I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen him do it myself.

At the top of the list of my favorite things about him, were those sweet plump lips that he had, the ones that could take my breath away every time they merely parted. They were the most perfect shade of pink, like the cotton candy I used to buy at the carnivals I went to as a kid, they had a taste that was entirely different though. They tasted like cigarette smoke and liquor, most people wouldn't find that appealing, but it was the best damn taste in the world to me. And when he spoke my name, I could instantly feel myself go weak in the knees, he voice was deep and husky. The kind of voice that could make you shiver even when it was saying the most mundane of things to you, one that was almost as perfect as the being that it belonged to itself.

It was never merely his looks that has lead me to believe that he was so wondrous, like something that was rare and fragile that needed to be kept out of harm's grasp, no. That boy was one of the greatest people I've ever had the pleasure to meet in all of my lifetime, from his sense of humor, to his carefree attitude, and more importantly his empathy towards those around him. You could always count on him to be there when it seemed like the world was crumbling in on you, there was never a lack of kind words on his part when you needed them the most. It wasn't uncommon for me to believe that perhaps this boy never existed at all, that he was merely a figment summed up by my subconscious in a dream or something, just as a way to get me by when I was feeling down.

I know better than to believe that for more than a few moments.

This boy was real, he existed and I had the honor of calling him my bandmate, my friend, and my lover.

That boy had been mine, and he was beautiful.

The only ugliness that I could recall of the boy holding was the one that lived inside of him, the one that ate at him every day under the cover of that sparkling smile that I was once so hypnotized by. He was doomed to bouts of a depression, one that when left alone for too long festered and grew, fed by insecurities and doubts. Eventually, it became too much, he succumbed to the hatefulness that lived inside of him.

No matter how many times I said it, he never listened. He was beautiful.

After he had lost himself to what was slowly destroying him, the boy I knew, everything had changed. His hair remained unkempt and untamed, falling in an abysmal state without so much as a curse or a fight in retaliation. Those deep icy eyes lost their depth and sparkle, becoming nothing more than dull orbs that barely saw you, let alone through you. Those legs that once moved with such grace and elegance, shuffled and stumbled as if they had no sense of direction left to guide them. Worse of all, those lips that I adored so much became cracked and chapped from many days of biting and gnawing at them in an attempt to keep emotions at bay. They no longer spoke words that made me weak.

My beautiful boy was lost, and no amount of coaxing or pleading was bringing him back.

The thing that hit hardest of all was watching him lose all sense of himself. There was no laughter that shook his body which each gasp of air he attempted to make, there were no more light hearted smiles on a lazy afternoon of just being together, there were no more kinds words or soft gestures when I was feeling down. No, not anymore, this rare and fragile being had become cracked with all sense of purpose fleading out rapidly. The world had crumbled in on him.

Before long, I had lost my beautiful boy completely, never a chance to get him back.

One day, a day that I begged and pleaded with every god known to man to take back, he was gone. Lying in a bathtub full of water that had cooled over the course of time that he had been sitting in it. For a moment, I believed, no, I had fooled myself into thinking that he had simply fallen asleep, because that's what it appeared to be at first. He had just drifted into a deep and peaceful slumber while he was bathing. Though, after I removed him from that water, not caring in the slightest bit if my clothes got damp from it, I held him in my arms looking down at that sweet face, the one that hadn't looked so at peace in quite some time. I felt my heart clench at the bitter truth there before my chocolate eyes, but my brain refused to accept that as the reality of the situation. I pushed the onyx hair from his eyes, asking for him to open up those icy blues eyes, or speak to me in that husky voice.

My attempts were only in vain, that beautiful boy was gone.

That day I made a phone call that was the hardest one I've ever had to make, followed by many more that never became any easier with every push of the buttons. I had to tell everyone, I had to recount my own personal tale of horror as a reply to the same question 'What happened to him?' By the end of that day, I was tired, exhausted even and my tears had dried up hours ago when he was still in my arms. That day I believed that I would never cry again in my life, my supply having been spent on him.

Time passed and I grew to accept the death of him, though his passing was still haunting me with each passing day. I had attempted to bring him back from that edge so many times, or at least, that's what I could convince myself on a good day. Other days were spent mercilessly berating myself for not saying something more or even saying something better to bring him back from the depression that had ripped him from my grasp so easily, like I never had him from the start, but I know I did.

He was still beautiful to me

It was a short while later that he had been put to rest, going for a proper burial rather than a cremation. I couldn't bare the thought of him being pushed into a burning fire like that until the flames ate away at every piece of him until there was nothing but ashes to show that there was once a being in their place. I'd much rather have him under the ground allowing for time to take its course and eat away at him instead. That's what he deserves.

All these years later and I still make it a priority to visit the headstone, though the service is long over, and all the people have left, it still feels like that very same day every time I step onto the gravel road of the cemetery. We talk often, or at least I to him. I catch him up on what has been happening lately and I always assure him that even though I have moved on with Jake in my life, that when my time comes I know he'll be waiting to greet me wherever it is you go after death. That we can be reunited once again where nothing could ever tear us apart again. I always wrap up my visits to him by telling the same story without fail, because I know every word of it by heart.

There was this boy I knew so many years ago, and he was beautiful...