I Used to Have a Scene With Him

Art is everything. It’s the heart, the body and the soul. It’s enough to make little children smile and lonely women cry. It’s the connection we feel, the perfection we haunt for. It’s nothing, it’s everything we dream for. Inspiration, we fall in love with art, we cherish it more than we could cherish our loved ones. I adored mine with all I had. It wasn’t a play, a movie or a song. It was much more than the art itself. It was his creator, the man with such perfection. The way he moved, the way he breathed. Such caress, such elegance. His energy sneaking into my veins, our souls colliding with just a single move. His hands dancing on his body, lips creating words that should not sound so absolute. My dear, you were finished. You were complete.

I used to have a scene with him, he used to be mine.

“Let me paint you in my mind. When they open my soul you’ll be there, my love. Breathing beneath me, trembling hands wandering over my body ever so lightly. You won’t alter me, you won’t change this. Your movements are mine, they are my remedy.” ~ Benedict

Whisper sweet nothings in my ear, promise me the world. Promise me a play, promise me a dialogue . Let's stay this way, intertwined as one. Make me believe we'll fight the stares that they won't hold us back. Society will not destroy us, this will be our moment.

Kill your darlings, Martin. Sometimes you have to give up what you love most in order to make it work.

Would you destroy something beautiful in order to make it perfect, sir?

You were mine...

“I was not your cure, the stage was. It always has been. Keep her with you, love her more than I love you. The scene is yours, your monologues are mine. Talk to me Benedict, come back. Come back to me.” ~ Martin