He was a freshman. The first time I saw him was a week after school had started. He had something unique that drew me to him. Maybe his face, or body, or the way he walked, his whole entity and existence. He had medium length blond hair, which he tied in a ponytail -- it made him look really cute. He was slim and not very tall. By the look of his clothes I could tell he was a skater boy. His style was flawless; whatever he wore it always looked great on him.
We often passed each other in the halls and in no time I was a prisoner to his eyes. I searched for them every day, just like a drug addict. I couldn't get enough of them -- those deep blue eyes that glowed like stars in a night sky.
The problem was they didn't meet mine. Every time we passed each other I was hoping his eyes would wander off, maybe look at me or even notice I was looking, no -- staring at him. But then what was there that could have happened? There was nothing special he will see. Just some big scary senior, who thought he owned the school. I know that is what he would think. I wasn't at least interested in the bigger guys than me when I was his age. They were just some older people, who you didn't mess with.
We had just passed again, him talking to his friends, and me stealing peeks, when I saw Hayden walking towards me in the hall. She was one of my best friends and the second person who knew my secret. By the looks of it she was going to give me one of her analytical criticism reviews.
"Hey, Hayden, what's up?" I said, still thinking about the boy and his eyes.
"Hey, I read your story," she said.
You see, Hayden was the only person I shared everything that I wrote. She always gave me proper critique and feedback without going too much into the compliments.
"And what do you think?" I asked after a short silence.
"I don't know really where to start."
"Did it leave such powerful impression?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, an impression of bad writing. What the heck is that supposed to be?" Well, she started. "Are you going backwards, or what? You lead the reader nowhere. You left me at a standstill. There wasn't any character development, just some mindless in depth description and a mysterious plot."
She had more to come, but I had to say something to defend the idea behind the story.
"You know, a lot of great writers at times write bad on purpose, just so that the idea outstands the rest of the story."
"Yeah, but you're not a great writer, yet." She grinned. "And the idea would have been more noticeable if you wrote it like the rest of your stories -- with talent and passion. Seriously, where is your mind lately?"
"I don't know what you are talking about. It's right here," I said rather defensively. "And the story does have passion. It's true that it isn't one of my best, but that is how I felt at the moment of writing it. I will work it out and let you read it again."
"Work it out? What is there to edit? Let me read you this..."
"What, now? Here?" I said looking around the hall full of people.
But she ignored me.
"It was a night full of mirrors, wrapped in a dream. The one surface, which reflected the light of truth, was broken into millions of pieces, scattered on the calm waters of the lake. They were stars. Between them and the soil, in the bright night, were standing two figures. They were the only beings on the surface of the lake, yet they didn't know each other. The one in the middle was gazing up at the stars. The other was looking at its reflection in the water. But all was visible. The omniscient sky knew that the two figures would connect. The one, which looked at the reflection, started to gain its identity. The broken pieces began to fit together like a puzzle and bit by bit the night light revealed what the figure looked like. It had short black hair and green illuminating eyes that pierced the distance and searched for the other figure's gates to the soul. It stood strong and tall..." Hayden suddenly stopped reading and looked at me.
I was in a dreamy state, experiencing again the moments of writing and reading it and the thoughts behind.
"What do you have to say about that?" she said, making me realize her voice wasn't resonating in my mind anymore.
"What is wrong with it?" I asked confused.
"Why are you in your own story? What is all that mystery?"
"Is that it? You know it feels real, when you put your personal experience in a story. When I start writing, I don't realize how I put little things about myself in it and before you know it it's all about my views only."
"I'm not talking about that. This one is different. It's not like the rest of your stories." She looked me in the eyes. "Who is he?"
"Who is who?" It's going to be hard to avoid the topic.
A widespread smile appeared on her face.
"I see," she said inscrutably. "That's why you are so clumsy."
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Oh, don't worry, I'll find out."
"There is nothing to find out, but even if there is, I doubt you will be able to. I have to get to class now."
"Jace, Jace... Did you forget that you described him in your story?" I could swear there was an evil grin on her face. "It's a matter of time until I find him."
I cursed myself through the whole day that I had made such a foolish mistake: that I wrote about the boy and that I gave it to Hayden. Why did I do it?
Sure, Hayden and Reece were the only ones, who knew I was gay. I told them years ago and they were understanding. They are great friends. But I don't want them to know that I have a crush on a freshman. I mean, I'm like 17 years old and he's just 13 or 14. What does that make me?
It's not like I didn't have any boyfriends before, but, as you can see, I'm only out to my two closest friends, not even my family knows. I'm not afraid or anything, it's just that I don't see the whole point in the coming out of the closet. I'm myself, not gay, not straight, just me. Hayden and Reece often joke that I would be by myself with that way of thinking, but they know me very well.
I fantasized about some boys from school, been fantasizing for 4 years now, but I didn't approach any of them. The guys, with whom I have met, were not from this school. There wasn't even anyone openly gay in school, but there were some rumors.
But from the start of the year my thoughts were held captive by that boy whose name I didn't even know. It's not like I expected something to really happen. But I wanted to get to know him, even as a friend. I was curious about his personality, drawn to him, not in a perverted sexual way, but more like emotionally. I was afraid that I would become like a stalker and scare him to death if he finds or suspects anything. But my interest wouldn't let me go.
That's why a few nights ago I wrote that story. I couldn't sleep because the image of him was constantly in my mind. So I got up, grabbed a pen and gave way to my thoughts. It gave me great pleasure when I finished. At least now I have met him in my fantasy.
Alchemy of feelings
It was a night full of mirrors, wrapped in a dream. The one surface, which reflected the light of truth, was broken into millions of pieces, scattered on the calm waters of the lake. They were stars. Between them and the soil, in the bright night, were standing two figures. They were the only beings on the surface of the lake, yet they didn't know each other. The one, in the middle of the lake, was gazing up at the stars. The other, not far away, was looking at its reflection in the water. All was visible. The omniscient sky knew that the two figures would connect. The one, which looked at the reflection, started to gain its identity. The broken pieces began to fit together like a puzzle and, bit by bit, the night light revealed what the figure looked like. It had short black hair and green illuminating eyes that pierced the distance and searched for the other figure's gates of the soul. With a will to reach its heart it stood strong and tall, unwavering.
But the other figure kept gazing at the sky, watched by the other from the reflection in the water. Neither of them really saw the light of truth, neither of them saw each other.
Time did not pass in this world; the stars knew nothing of it.
A soft voice could be heard coming from somewhere. Somebody sang. It became clearer, as the pieces returned to their places. It was a tender woman's voice. It sang:
Into a million pieces it shall scatter,
into a million pieces of suns.
The two a mask shall wear,
as long as broken stays the truth.
Bound the heart and reach the soul,
unveil the eyes, which fear no dark.
In the reflection lurk illusions,
into the falsely light lie dreams.
If together, they shall crumble,
if together, the pieces shall be tied.
A million pieces shall be united,
a million pieces of flaring suns.
The woman continued to sing, but could not be seen neither in the vast sky, nor in the deep reflection in the water.
Soon clouds filled the sky and no light could reach the surface of the lake. The figure, which was looking at the stars shivered, it felt the cold breeze. More terrified was the other, which viewed all in the reflections of the water, but now there was only darkness there. It felt the fear and solitude, carried by the wind. Both their worlds have fallen apart. The pieces continued to fill the broken surface, the truth was revealed. Both figures now in the dark found each other's eyes.
They were close, looking amusingly, exploring each other's faces. One extended a hand and the other followed. They were like the same person. Their movements were synchronized, their hearts were in harmony, their hands touched as if resting on a flat surface; they both felt the heat and pulse with their palms.
The other figure was now visible. Its eyes glowed with a bright blue light in the night. There was something like a golden aureole around its head.
The masks they were wearing vanished: the mask of illusion and the mask of dreams. The first hides what's in front and presents the distorted; the second relies on the false height of hopes.
The pieces were now united, the million pieces of feelings, which they shared as they held hands.
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