Because there is no one else I can tell.
=--------------------=

"The last time I saw you, you had a rose in your hand. And you walked away from me, and disappeared like patty cake visions in the sun, shining for one list time and burning yourself into my eyes like an eclipse."

*
I met him only once and from at distance when I was playing to paint my windows with finger paints. I knew their house was full of screams and things I'll never understand. He was almost two years older than me. I was ten and he was eleven, crossing to twelve, when we saw each other, and from that moment I knew I wanted to be with him and no one else for the rest of my life. At eleven, he already had pierced his ears, had his hair in a black pony tail that framed his sapphire eyes with stray hairs and went around in a tee shirt that was too short and pants that were too tight. He always got in a car at six, and didn't return for days... My curiosity forced me to meet him, and invite him to play. Little did I know what playing for this boy meant.


I learned his name and his nickname, his life and even the very map of his little body. His daddy called him Fairy. He asked me if I wanted to make money about a week after we met. What little kid didn't want a new Sega dreamcast by then? I was so ignorant that I said yes. My dad never cared for me, I knew that he wished I rot every other day, and my mother was too involved cheating on dad with a woman to notice I got in that car one day at six. I told her I was going on a play date to that kid's daddy's home. And it was true.

The Fairy let me borrow a shirt, some jeans and a pair of really good shoes... His 'daddy' made us stand in a corner of the capital city when it was really cold and my nipples had gotten as hard as they could be. I was shivering, but he didn't gave any sings of being cold, so I stood and swallowed my kiddish complaints like the man I was supposed to be.

*
A fat man came back two hours later, and told something to the Fairy's dad. I never knew what I was and I'll probably never know anyway. He took us both by the hand, guiding us up the stairs with ease in the old building. There were women, children and men, all in rooms locked with keys and stifled of sounds. But I was with my Fairy, and that was all I needed to know.

That man who took us up, was a voyeur. He sat on that cushioned chair that was too stained to be black anymore and ordered us to play a game. I didn't knew what that was, but the Fairy did, and he took my hands ...and that was the way the filth in my life started to build up like a hard crust I would have trouble scraping off in later years. There were others like him. Many more like him, just wanting to sit and see.

I came back to that place like a ritual ceremony every Tuesday. Always with my new daddy and the Fairy. The time with the fat man hadn't been my first, because when I met the kid, he showed me how to play with my mouth and a hose up my hind. And I had liked it so much that I dropped my grades and left my family in blank because I wanted to be in the dark of the room clutched with many strangers to keep me warm like my parents never had; and sometimes with my only love.

He didn't love me at first, not at all. But as our time together grew and went by... I was fifteen and he was sixteen. He asked me to be his, only his. I had holes in my arms and my throat and my brown eyes had lost their shine. I had long hair by that, long and vicious and down to my ass. But the rest of me looked like a dead plant, I know that because even though I saw myself as beautiful, I have a picture from high school. The dark absent holes in my face looked like they were going to swallow my eyeballs any second, the little craters in my skin were lividly red and alightly yellow, raising up from my skin like little mouths, infected down to the last fiber because of many shared needles. I had reduced myself to a living skeleton, marked in every bend by peeking bones and veins that were too dark and too much there to be real. I could barely run anymore, and my will to enjoy drawing in the morning had vanished to vain scribbles and ink stains on the cardboard in the Fairy's room. I still don't know how he could love me when I looked like a homeless lunar crater. Maybe it was because he looked the same as me, all wilted and none of that childhood glisten he had when we first met.

My mother had started caring and taken me many a times to a professional to correct my wrongful ways, but I kept shedding my dignity like onion peels on that one room in the princess walk of the capital because I loved him.

I had been to houses in rehabilitation and eating a lardy mush in the morning and noons to buildup the skin that was missing on top of my bones. I've always been small, but looking at those old pictures I realize how much fragile I looked when I was eaten away by my worst enemy and the sickness I have to live with for the rest of my life. Built up by people who worked better than constructors to tell me that I wasn't perfect. That the Fairy was by far more beautiful because he was as flat as a board to his stomach and I was not.

*
We were boyfriends on and off for years, almost four years. I had regathered myself a little, and now only went to the shack when I was called personally. The holes in my skin had almost closed, leaving only grey scars and little pink and red dots that couldn't be mistaken for anything else. I got better grades and graduated from middle and high school... and then I lost him.

*
He had been consumed by the shack and the fat men and the games and the lively burns from the needles. I met some kid on the Internet who was years younger than I was, but his mouth spoke words of silk, and his cyber fingers touched me while I slept, playing the tunes of a better life I never had the time to know. He took me like a dark hole in my misery, because my love had faded, and he gave me the best four months in some time. I hated him and despised him, but in him I saw too, my only saviour. He washed most of my memories from the painful times in life and helped me scratch the filth that had grown in my head and heart and I helped him build a hard layer cake of love in his own. Mine died though, because in every breath I saw my Fairy, floating above my head with his tattered skin and his castrated maleness and the same plea in his eyes for a better life away from bottle tops and needles and white fairy dust, but he was tied to it. More tied than I ever would be, swimming at the bottom of all that murk where no one can really exist. And I forgave him for tearing my heart in four, and tore at the same time, my Butterfly saviour's heart in six.

He forgave me too.


We never murdered each other, like he promised me when I was thirteen, or took love poison like in Shakespeare's novels. We just stopped looking at each other for a long time while I healed and he rotted. Until we saw each other again, near the place where we first met, and there he was, standing in a tee shirt that was too short and pants that were and will always be too tight. And I had finger paints in my hand.

Hopefully... we have all the time in the world to remake this mess, to make up for the time we lost, and for the pieces we lost of ourselves.

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