Yours Truly (Petekey)

XVII.

Written by: HellaBrendon

Michael James Way

I am the birthday songs of children who are excited to have survived another year. I am the paint that Gerard has accidentally licked off his paintbrush. I am the letters that make words that make sentences that make books. I am the folded corner of the page of the novel you are most in love with.

I am fireworks that go off in America. I am piano notes played by my mother when she was still alive. I am the wind that blows away ridiculous hats and I am the printing press that prints your favourite name. I am tens of thousands of flowers that dance in the summer wind.

I am the feeling of the sun on your skin in winter. I am the smell of freshly baked bread. I am what it feels like to get a new book, I am the sound of Gerard's voice when he recites poetry. I am the feeling of running your fingers down the spine of a novel you love.

I am the smell of libraries, the faint dust that flies in the air when you touch a book that's been waiting for you. I am the feeling of losing yourself to the smell of spring. I am soaked pants after spending a night on wet grass. I am kissing boys for the first time.

I am the hug your mother gave you when you felt you were falling apart. I am stolen kisses, I am crinkled eyes, I am extreme smiles. I am falling in love over and over again. I am the feeling of new clothes. I am helium balloons when you accidentally let go.

I am bird who fly from country to country but always come back. I am ballet shoes and the sound of violins. I am Romeo and I am Juliet and I am love. I am warm food on cold days. I am sleeping in on Sundays. I am the light that shines on your face to wake you after a night of good sleep.

I am laughter that echoes through rooms in houses that feel empty. I am what fills the silence when you are afraid to speak. I am words. I am words. I am words. I am paintings that fill chapels, I am voices in a choir that sound just right.

I am cherubs who find good things. I am a good cup of coffee on a cold winters day. I am the feeling of blankets and fireplaces when it's snowing outside. I am the way the sun gleams off Gerard's teeth when he laughs like I'm his favourite person.

I am laughter and unexpected kindness. I am the giggles of little girls in pretty dresses and the boisterous laughter of the boys who chase them. I am Cinderella. I am Prince Charming. I am fairy tales and happily ever afters. I am the butterflies that swarm in my chest and stomach, that flutter through my intestines and in the back of my mind when I think of Pete.

On the way home, I am everything that makes me happy. I am floating, dancing the way from my prince to my prison. I know I need to stop, I need to stop thinking about him or touching him or the feeling of my fingers trailing over his tan skin. I need to stop thinking about what it feels like to touch his hands.

I need to stop imagining him at my breakfast table. I need to stop dreaming about running my hands through his hair and kissing him until I am all he remembers. I need to stop thinking about how I am Romeo and he is Juliet. I need to stop myself from falling in love with him the way valuable glass falls out of my hands, without hesitance on to the floor, destined to shatter into pieces.

I need to stop. But I can't. I can't stop the smile that's spreading it's way over my face, through the loops of my bones, around every part of my life that I've ever hated. I can't stop the happiness that fills me and splits my face apart. I can't stop the skip in my step that makes it feel like I'm floating home.

He makes me happy. He's always been able to. And the thought of him, the thought of his body against mine, his lips against mine, my fingers in his hair, of dragging my lingers over the wild geography of his body, had always made me happy.