Best Friends? -STYLE-The cold whisked around my face and nipped at my nose. Though it was colder than it has ever been, I barely noticed. My mind thought of one person; one boy. His hair was dark, black as coal. Blue eyes pierced my heart leaving a wondrous sensation behind for me to have. That skin of his, almost porcelain. Deep within me the urge to brush my fingertips on his baby textured skin grew and festered inside of me. Some call it a monster.
Gay. Is that what I am? I chewed the word inside my mouth but it sounded so wrong. Gay is tan, muscled, dyed, and fake. I am pale, lanky, red haired, and could care less about fashion. The more I try and think about me with someone else my mind races to him. My best friend. My soul mate?
Stan Marsh. He is nine years old. I am three-quarters of an inch taller than him, but he's a few months older. We've been friends since forever and this love feels so right. At least I think I should call it love. Yet day after day I fight it off. Never daring to whisper the