#boreo edit

Hey, I’m back with editing and I’m bringing angst to you guys ;)

If you want to, go follow on my tt account (@doomed_poet), I’m trying to revive it.

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Boris was alluring, with his dark hair that somehow always stayed streaky, that was easily tangled because we'd been spending too much time in the pool and the chlorine (or was it the heat?) had damaged his curls.

Old, thrifted band shirts that reached from Nirvana to niche russian nu-metal bands we'd never heard of -- loose strings hung from the bottom, the print almost invisible from where moths had chewed on the fabric, which was almost always a muddy shade of black. It was really no use trying to decipher the gothic letters or make anything of it.

Nonetheless, every time I would ask him about the stack of CDs in his room, he'd scramble to a corner and talk about all of them in excessive detail. All the while he let one play, he rambled on and on about how "I have tshirt of this... don't have shirt of this one, but...", only to pull out more boxes and boxes from under his bed.

They way that the desert seemed to have finally gotten to him, as nowadays there were an array of freckles and moles placed haphazardly by the sun all over his body. Behind his ear, over his eyelids, on the crooked bridge of his nose. His wrists, normally adorned with leather bracelets, now covered with tiny dots.

Fingernails chewed to the core. His biting had improved ever since he started painting his nails black ("Like sucking on pen."), but I sometimes missed the coppery taste in my mouth when Boris' fingers started bleeding from excessive gnawing.

Not only that, but his pale skin was covered in marks -- more often than not, warm purple bruises bloomed on his body, red streaks, some semi-permanent scars where he'd been digging his pencil into his arms or nervously scratching his elbow (due to his short short nails, he picked at the same spot over and over again until both his arm and his fingers were red with blood).

I think he is the most beautiful boy I have ever met.

Most of the time, I didn't dare talk of how I observed every one of his little details. I tried keeping the same few features on repeat (black hair, unkempt, thin, pale skin) as to not think too much about him.

Boris -- in his whole being -- was a far too interesting person to not observe, though I think  he occupied my brain enough as is. Not that I wouldn't make more room for him there.

I just wasn't sure how he would inevitably react, and I didn't dare to ask.

Theo sinks to the bottom of the swimming pool, always.

Boris swims down and pulls him up, always.

This, he thinks, is the way of this world.

- from I see a colour cascading (a lightning escaping our hearts) | 9k |