#ipc 2

it’s not that I love him for his face, or his body, or any of the other hundred gorgeous things on him [although it’s not that I don’t love him for that too] - * I love him more * for his cloudy, imperfect sky, for the sun that might not always be the brightest but sure tries its best; * I love him for the comfort he brings, all the smiles and hope so desperately needed. I love him for his everchanging, indecisive eyes, and for the child in him that never fully went away. I love him for being human in time when that's almost unforgivable.

it might be true that sammy’s the one now sitting on the throne, all comfortable and smiling as if it’s not a sulphur and and ash throne, as if it’s not the hell’s throne. * it also might be true that he’s a king now, all mighty and crowned, with the host of hell bowing to him; * but what’s definitely true is that even though he has thousands now, I’m still his only one: * his personal demon.

I can’t help but love the way you go all desperate, sammy, desperate to hold me, to kiss me, burning for my touch. * can’t help but adore how it reflects so perfectly the same, too tight for this body, feeling I get every time I look at you. * can’t help but admire how we fit so beautifully, desperation and all, like we were never meant to be more than one.

- but they’re brothers? - it’s BECAUSE they’re brothers. * it’s because of the same blood running through their veins, that special connection that existed between them long before sam first opened his eyes to the world. it’s because of the same surname, often giving them illusion of how it’d be if only they didn’t have to pretend. it’s because of one destiny they share. because of one soul split temporarily in two bodies. everything they are, it’s not in spite of them being brothers. it’s because they are, first and foremost, brothers.

how could you ever be anything else, with your multichrome eyes, heady scent of your smile, and hair that dances with the wind? * (but could you ever see me as the soil to grow from?)

don’t believe what you see - his almost there smile, shy turn of the eyes, hair soft and fluffy, bones oh so fragile and young... don’t believe it. * yes, his body might still be so small and soft, all dreamy, but his smile is right there, just don’t let him see you watching. it’s a shark’s smile. a hunter’s smile. a sinner’s smile. * but even if you don’t notice that, you'd better keep away, or you’ll get trapped with the eyes of a witch, carefully hidden under his bangs. no way to avoid that one, no really. * (so don’t believe everything you see, or it might be too late for you)

we were here too. it’s whispered in the bathrooms, bigger than men would’ve thought to make them, hidden in beauty of the library and the floors themselves. * we were here too. in decisive woman’s writing, left to float in dusty blanket of silence. * though books do not mention us, don’t fool yourself - not only men were of letters.

though it sometimes seems so, waking up isn’t making the world exist anew. the problems, the people, the worries, same ole, same ole. * so make sure you have enough time to indulge yourself and press that button, the one that gives the morning a second chance - * perhaps with ten more minutes it’ll all be easier to bear.