Hard to Say
Hard To Say
Maybe it was his perfection. The way he smiled in this boyish, naïve way, where his pretty eyes would shine and make Brendon melt to the hardwood floors, skin and heart falling into the tiny cracks. The way his figure was not too short, not too tall, not skinny nor big. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways. The most perfect thing of all was his personality.
It was something so much like his grin, impish and naïve. But it was so mature and developed at the very same time. It only added to his beauty, his imperfect perfection. Brendon had thought his personality to be almost sweet, sugary sweet, like honeysuckle on a summer day, all that you can smell, but a perfect smell, one that made you feel like you were floating on clouds, right up next to the sun.
Brendon lit a cigarette and opened the window, staring at the passing traffic. Drivers stared right back at him, the looks in their eyes thoughtful and wondering. An outsider could look in and think that right now, everything in that house was going perfect, but Brendon knew better. He knew so much better. Things were far from perfect. They always were, of course.
Shed a tear fear of falling out.
Ryan stood in the kitchen, careful to avoid the shatter remains of what was once a glass cup, that had been sitting in war zone when another fight had erupted. Brendon could see the reflection of him against glass, his eyes – even from where Brendon was, he could see – were angry, his fists clenched, his breathing a bit higher; his pale slender face red.
Brendon took a drag and refocused his gaze on the pink caramel colour the sky was blending into, the sun that was slipping every so slowly behind the buildings that were further out.
Another car.
The house was like a glass house, almost, the front decorated in big panels of expensive, glorious, beautiful glass, that exposed everything nakedly, people, furniture, perfection and the ugly. They’d always been careful to never fight where people could see, instead choosing the kitchen, that had too many murderous items sitting in it.
It’s hard to say, how I feel about you today.
Brendon put the cigarette out and turned around, walking back into the kitchen slowly. He bent over and picked up the large shards of glittering crystal. The silence felt thick, sickening, as he dumped the crystal into the waste bin, and turned back around.
He could practically see Ryan’s blood pounding underneath his papery skin, thick ruby red rivulets blending together and pulsating faster with each growing second angrily. Brendon just stared, the corner of his pink lips curling with thought.
Another car, he heard it, he knew it was slowing down peering into the house with curiosity, wondering about the perfection the living room and dining room held, wondering where the perfect couple was.
Brendon suddenly felt as though there was a brick wall between Ryan and him, blocking out everything, keeping them from rushing into the other’s arms and forgetting about all the fights. He felt like there was no way he could knock it down.
Maybe it was the way Ryan’s eyes glistened with tears as he turned around and opened the door, mumbled something so hopeless, faithless, so empty, before walking out.
We need to end this. Brendon wanted to leap forward and scream that they didn’t, they didn’t need to end anything, that they could make it through everything if they just stopped trying to be perfect for everyone else.
But his feet were lead, suddenly almost impossibly heavy, refusing to move, instead keeping their spot on the kitchen tile, planted firmly, refusing. Brendon closed his eyes and willed them to move, come on, move move move! Don’t let him go… But they instead continued to painfully keep him glued to the spot as Ryan turned back around, hurt eyes settling their gaze in his direction.
Brendon felt like the blue green veins in his arms might burst with frustration and heartbreak as Ryan just stood there for 5, 6, 7 seconds, waiting for him to say anything. But he didn’t. He had cotton mouth – impossible to speak without hurling from the dryness. He could practically feel the vomit rise up the back of his throat, threatening to spill out if he opened his mouth.
It's hard to say i held my tongue.
Ryan turned back towards the door and stepped out. The world seemed to go in slow motion, all the sudden; Ryan stepping out, Brendon collapsing to the floor in a heap of heartbreak and crystal tears, begging silently for Ryan to come back, to not leave.
It didn’t work.
Maybe it was the way Ryan left the house, that left Brendon thinking, as yet another car passed by, their owner looking into the glass windows for the perfection they were hoping existed, that maybe he could show people perfection was impossible. That looks were deceiving.
As the glass shattered, another car went passed, and he saw a different reaction for the first time. This time, they weren’t curious, or wondering, or hopeful about what was held inside, they were surprised, a look of horror first crossing their face, then pity for the broken boy standing inside, little globules of salt water dripping from his face to the wood floors almost elegantly.
Perfection was far from, in this house of glass. It was naked truth.
Maybe it was how Brendon wandered around the house numb, empty, tired and broken, the glass still shattered out on the lawn, a breeze floating in from the front of the house now and then, reminding him of Ryan, the sweet boy he loved so much.
Brendon remembered Ryan’s personality, the honeysuckle sweet, and he remembered how he’d destroyed it, like a murderer, torturing it until Ryan could no longer take it, instead bringing out another side of him completely.
Brendon remembered the countless fights they’d had, hidden in the kitchen, plates and glasses being thrown in various directions, Ryan’s soft, boyish voice suddenly raising and deeper, angry that Brendon could do something so stupid.
But most of all he made himself remember the boyish grins, the sparkling eyes, the usual happy-go attitude Ryan had usually had. The one before Brendon fucked him up. That one. He remembered it all.
He missed it.
He wanted it back.
He wasn’t the same, he was a ghost, a fragment of what he was when he was with Ryan.
Ryan would never leave his heart, Brendon knew. Brendon would always be fragmented, like the little shards of glass the glittered in the green grass on the line when the afternoon sun finally came out everyday. Sharp and torn, dangerous and just… broken.
It's hard to say that I was wrong
It's hard to say I miss you
Since you've been gone it's not the same.
It was something so much like his grin, impish and naïve. But it was so mature and developed at the very same time. It only added to his beauty, his imperfect perfection. Brendon had thought his personality to be almost sweet, sugary sweet, like honeysuckle on a summer day, all that you can smell, but a perfect smell, one that made you feel like you were floating on clouds, right up next to the sun.
Brendon lit a cigarette and opened the window, staring at the passing traffic. Drivers stared right back at him, the looks in their eyes thoughtful and wondering. An outsider could look in and think that right now, everything in that house was going perfect, but Brendon knew better. He knew so much better. Things were far from perfect. They always were, of course.
Shed a tear fear of falling out.
Ryan stood in the kitchen, careful to avoid the shatter remains of what was once a glass cup, that had been sitting in war zone when another fight had erupted. Brendon could see the reflection of him against glass, his eyes – even from where Brendon was, he could see – were angry, his fists clenched, his breathing a bit higher; his pale slender face red.
Brendon took a drag and refocused his gaze on the pink caramel colour the sky was blending into, the sun that was slipping every so slowly behind the buildings that were further out.
Another car.
The house was like a glass house, almost, the front decorated in big panels of expensive, glorious, beautiful glass, that exposed everything nakedly, people, furniture, perfection and the ugly. They’d always been careful to never fight where people could see, instead choosing the kitchen, that had too many murderous items sitting in it.
It’s hard to say, how I feel about you today.
Brendon put the cigarette out and turned around, walking back into the kitchen slowly. He bent over and picked up the large shards of glittering crystal. The silence felt thick, sickening, as he dumped the crystal into the waste bin, and turned back around.
He could practically see Ryan’s blood pounding underneath his papery skin, thick ruby red rivulets blending together and pulsating faster with each growing second angrily. Brendon just stared, the corner of his pink lips curling with thought.
Another car, he heard it, he knew it was slowing down peering into the house with curiosity, wondering about the perfection the living room and dining room held, wondering where the perfect couple was.
Brendon suddenly felt as though there was a brick wall between Ryan and him, blocking out everything, keeping them from rushing into the other’s arms and forgetting about all the fights. He felt like there was no way he could knock it down.
Maybe it was the way Ryan’s eyes glistened with tears as he turned around and opened the door, mumbled something so hopeless, faithless, so empty, before walking out.
We need to end this. Brendon wanted to leap forward and scream that they didn’t, they didn’t need to end anything, that they could make it through everything if they just stopped trying to be perfect for everyone else.
But his feet were lead, suddenly almost impossibly heavy, refusing to move, instead keeping their spot on the kitchen tile, planted firmly, refusing. Brendon closed his eyes and willed them to move, come on, move move move! Don’t let him go… But they instead continued to painfully keep him glued to the spot as Ryan turned back around, hurt eyes settling their gaze in his direction.
Brendon felt like the blue green veins in his arms might burst with frustration and heartbreak as Ryan just stood there for 5, 6, 7 seconds, waiting for him to say anything. But he didn’t. He had cotton mouth – impossible to speak without hurling from the dryness. He could practically feel the vomit rise up the back of his throat, threatening to spill out if he opened his mouth.
It's hard to say i held my tongue.
Ryan turned back towards the door and stepped out. The world seemed to go in slow motion, all the sudden; Ryan stepping out, Brendon collapsing to the floor in a heap of heartbreak and crystal tears, begging silently for Ryan to come back, to not leave.
It didn’t work.
Maybe it was the way Ryan left the house, that left Brendon thinking, as yet another car passed by, their owner looking into the glass windows for the perfection they were hoping existed, that maybe he could show people perfection was impossible. That looks were deceiving.
As the glass shattered, another car went passed, and he saw a different reaction for the first time. This time, they weren’t curious, or wondering, or hopeful about what was held inside, they were surprised, a look of horror first crossing their face, then pity for the broken boy standing inside, little globules of salt water dripping from his face to the wood floors almost elegantly.
Perfection was far from, in this house of glass. It was naked truth.
Maybe it was how Brendon wandered around the house numb, empty, tired and broken, the glass still shattered out on the lawn, a breeze floating in from the front of the house now and then, reminding him of Ryan, the sweet boy he loved so much.
Brendon remembered Ryan’s personality, the honeysuckle sweet, and he remembered how he’d destroyed it, like a murderer, torturing it until Ryan could no longer take it, instead bringing out another side of him completely.
Brendon remembered the countless fights they’d had, hidden in the kitchen, plates and glasses being thrown in various directions, Ryan’s soft, boyish voice suddenly raising and deeper, angry that Brendon could do something so stupid.
But most of all he made himself remember the boyish grins, the sparkling eyes, the usual happy-go attitude Ryan had usually had. The one before Brendon fucked him up. That one. He remembered it all.
He missed it.
He wanted it back.
He wasn’t the same, he was a ghost, a fragment of what he was when he was with Ryan.
Ryan would never leave his heart, Brendon knew. Brendon would always be fragmented, like the little shards of glass the glittered in the green grass on the line when the afternoon sun finally came out everyday. Sharp and torn, dangerous and just… broken.
It's hard to say that I was wrong
It's hard to say I miss you
Since you've been gone it's not the same.