“hello,” i waved.

he gave me a weak smile and waved back.

-

this is him:

skinny, with jagged bones, pale skin and thick, coal-colored hair that falls unevenly around his shoulders. last year he asked my best friend for acid and yesterday i learned that he doesn’t like psychologists because he thinks they’re people who are paid to care. i wouldn’t disagree with that.

today we went to the beach and drew pictures with sticks in the wet sand. he wore a baggy 1970-styled sweater. it was the same color green as his eyes.

-

i remember:

when i met him i was cautious otherwise i felt like the boy in front of me would fall to pieces. someday he probably will.

when his eyes flutter in his sleep i can only hope that those are good dreams he’s having. when he’s alone and crying i can only hope he doesn’t drown in his tears.

-

“underwater there are mermaids.” i say after i surface from the bath water.
“don’t be silly, mermaids don’t exist.” his words are tints of black thrown onto an empty canvas.

here’s to our never-ending story, we’re halfway to dreamland.