Flames.

Percy: We had to. There’s safety in numbers.

“Don’t go close to him.” They’ll all tell you. Listen to them. They speak from the little experience they have. But as you maintain the distance and wonder how he’s so noticeable even though he’s so quiet; look in his eyes. Do you see what I see? Do you see the experience, the bitterness, the acceptance?

Do you see the humbleness, the courage and the compassion in his eyes. Do you read it in his smile? A boy so young; do you ever wonder how he’s seen so much? I’ll tell you how.

Because he could. Because he could, life hurdled challenges in his way. He tried and tried and tried. Never would you hear a complaint from anyone around him. He’s as silent and as loud as he needs to be.

He has been perfect. He was the perfect son, the perfect brother, the perfect friend, the perfect boyfriend. Then what could possibly go wrong?

He went wrong. He just got tired of it. Of leaping ahead, jumping over the hurdles life posed at him, running away from misery. So he stopped. And there was your perfect man: grieved. Almost instantly, people noticed that their favorite horse had stopped running. But he was tried of being the bet.

The problem? He didn’t want to rebel. He just didn’t have the motive to be one. He didn’t want anything. No amount of thrashing, bribing or starving could make the horse run again, because the horse saw no point.

Then the makers of the racetrack realized it: they had set too many hurdles on this particular one. Life bent on its knees, begging him to run. It just wasn’t about the gamblers’ money anymore. It was about their sentiment.

Because he was the perfect friend, his friends felt miserable. But he did nothing. For him, it didn’t simply matter anymore.

So it is true, don’t go close to him. He won’t kick you, but he won’t entertain you either. And if you spend enough time with him, he might enlighten you in his ways. Enlighten you; as to how futile everything you have ever done has been. And you will lose yourself. The way he did.

Flames erupt from all sides, engulfing everything we own. Everything we own, everything we ever had. Flames, so inevitable they can hardly be resisted. And all we can do is curse, wondering how things would have been if we had never lit that cigarette.

But we all do, don’t we? I feel the burns on my body as I see someone else raise their hand, knowing something I don’t. I loathe myself for that. Maybe you feel your burns when someone’s check has more digits than yours does.

I want to tell you… And everyone else that I love them no matter what. It doesn’t matter if people say that she looks pretty or not. For me, she’s the most beautiful thing that ever walked on this planet.

But you won’t understand, nor would they. Not would I if someone said this to me. Because when someone raises their hand, it doesn’t matter to me anymore.

These burns aren’t about reassurance, they are about competition. A race we run, not for the people who were love, but for our ego. So as the fire reaches my eyes, I resist the urge to justify why they’re better than me.

I tell myself over and over again that it’s not worth the burns, not worth the fire. It takes time, but I soon see the flames receding. I come up to you, give you a kiss on the cheek. Probably say “You know, I’m richer than you are. I have the best man on the planet.” The flames recede further.