Songs I Lost

He could sing. He could write, he could dance, he could smile like no one else, but I fell in love with him because he could sing.

The first song I ever heard him sang was a comercial tune. He sang it in a way that gave me goosebumps. He looked into my eyes a second too long I had fallen. 

He wore black better than anyone I have ever seen. He wore black shoes, he wore black ties, he wore black pants. Back then, I didn't know all this black was a representation of his dark soul, all I knew was he wore black like no one else ever could.

His songs became slower, his smile faded away. His hand still lay an inch away from mine on my desk when he turned around to talk to me, but now his hand trembled when he spoke and he barely ever did.

He stopped singing. He stopped dancing. He wrote more than he ever had and he stopped talking. I loved him, I did, but not for once did I think my love could save him. He couldn't know. He couldn't think for a second that I liked him as more than a friend.

No one could. I couldn't bare people marking my lockers with ugly words like "faggot" and more

importantly, I couldn't bare losing him.

And no one even knew. I didn't know either. I didn't know he was burning with almost the same fire as mine. I didn't know when he put his hand on my desk, he wanted me to take it. He wanted me to tell him it was okay, our sins would be forgiven.

He started singing again. His parents had sent him off to a place for a while and when he came back, he was singing again, but different songs. He stopped looking into my eyes, he started flirting with the school slut. She fell for him for the same reason I had. 

He sang only her love songs, songs he once would have sung for me.

When our eyes met months after, I saw him locked in there, somewhere, but I couldn't do anything.

You see, we were both locked in our dark closets and people had piled up rocks on our way so we could never leave.

He moved on with his life, singing songs about girls he "loved" and I was left in my darkness. I hated the girls he loved, jelaous of the skins he touched. Jealous of all that he did to people who weren't me.

He got married one day. He sang on his wedding day. He threw me a look, a look of hidden misery.

What was I to do? How was I to free him?

Today, I cry myself to sleep because I wasn't brave enough to grab him by the hips and kiss him there and then. With two children now, it was too late to ever be with him.

Along my dreams, I died.