I’m rambling again, ain’t I?
But to be honest, I don’t care. I don’t fucking care, as long as you’re close. You’re goddamn Apollo come down to earth; a god among mortals. I empty my drink and get the next one. You tried to make me believe in the beginning and it was almost cute. But you soon understood that I’m a lost cause. You can’t help me; I’ve been broken for far too long for that. You gave me something to believe in nonetheless and I can only thank you for that. I believed in nothing; now I believe in you.
Ok, so I said the silence between us is glorious. Let me correct that statement. Every fucking moment in your presence is glorious. I’m addicted to it. Ok, so being addicted to alcohol (and who am I kidding, I am) is probably enough, but I guess one more addiction won’t kill me. I’m addicted to you, because you are everything I can believe in. And because you seem to think there’s still a chance for all of us. If there’s one person in the world who could make a difference it would be you. I bet you could do anything; you’re just so fucking perfect. Or maybe I’m biased because I’m addicted.
But addiction or no addiction, truth is you are just so goddamn powerful. People listen to what you say. And if you don’t make an impact immediately that’s only because the people who should listen are dicks and too damn comfortable in their positions. But you know that, don’t you? It’s the reason why you’re never discouraged. Because you actually believe in what you say (it’s also what makes you so powerful) and you would never ever step down as long as there’s still some way to get things to change. When you are knocked down you just get up and there’s that fire in your eyes. Dammit. Do you even know how attractive you are when that happens? I mean to me you’re always Apollo, but that fire… that fire is something else. That fire is not simply Apollo walking among mortals, that fire is the motherfucking sun in our midst.
You know that story about the guy who made wings out of feathers and wax to escape from an island with his father? The one who flew so close to the sun that the wax melted and he lost his wings and fell into the ocean and died? Icarus? Well, I’m Icarus, you know? I’m goddamn Icarus and you’re the goddamn sun. One day I’ll come too close and it will be the end. Or maybe I’ve already been to close and all that’s left is the fall. Maybe I’m already racing towards my end.
Do you wanna know what I did after our first meeting? I painted. And then I got fucking wasted, because I still couldn’t deal with it. And now I fill sketchbook after sketchbook with your fucking face and your goddamn everything, because hell, you might send me away any time, because I don’t even belong into your group and all I do is mocking you and your ideals. But until then I’ll continue to dream and draw and paint. And I will get drunk on alcohol after getting drunk on your appearance, because it’s too much. You shouldn’t even be possible and it’s fucking rude that you exist anyways.
Dammit, I should stop. But I can’t as long as you are there and run your hand through your blonde curls just for them to fall back into your eyes, blue eyes that can go from cold as ice to lit with passionate fire in a split second. I can’t as long as you don’t tell me to walk away and never show up again (and if you do that me stopping will be final and radical, but let’s not talk about that).
But where was I? Ah, yes, your beauty; your goddamn, motherfucking, awe inspiring and otherworldly beauty. Beauty that I can only try and always fail at depicting in endless numbers of drawings and paintings, my fucking fingers dirty with charcoal and fucking canvases taking up way too much room in my flat (if you can call it a flat). I know it’s not healthy and I know I should stop, but just like with the drinking I can’t. I bet you don’t even understand how much I need you. I bet you don’t even understand what I mean when I say “I believe in you.” I bet you don’t even know how much influence you could have on me; that you would only have to say one word to make me do whatever you want. I already said it wasn’t healthy. Not that there would be anything else to expect from a guy like me.
I don’t know what I would do if you actually noticed me. Not in the usual annoyed way, I mean. Not as the guy in the back who has nothing better to do than attend meetings for a cause he doesn’t even believe in. And I know you do. I know you don’t just see me like that. I know you accept me as part of the group. I know you accept me as a friend; even if it doesn’t always look like it. If you didn’t I would have been sent away a long time ago. But what I mean is a whole different way. Because hands down, this addiction is love.
Yes, I fucking love you. Me, who never thought he would love anyone, has fallen utterly and head over heels in love. And it gets even better: it was love at first sight. How fucking cheesy is that? And to think I could ever stand a chance against your beloved patria. Ha, as if! I haven’t hoped in a long time, and I won’t start it now. Instead I will continue to believe in you and stay in the back with my bottle. Instead I will continue to fill sketchbooks and canvases with pictures of you. Instead I will continue to be the cynic you know, and hoard every moment of attention you give me. I’ll be there when you need me, and if you don’t I’ll be there, too.
“You believe in nothing.”
“I believe in you.”