lost_boy | (no subject)

A lot of the time I had a difficult time really communicating my feelings. I knew anger and I knew love, I knew happiness and sadness, but trying to put those things into words wasn't always easy for me. It was better than it used to be, I was better. I had a therapist and I was older and it wasn't that I was angry with myself right now for not being able to articulate everything I felt.

I just knew I wanted to get it right.

Elio wouldn't judge me, though, if I struggled. Elio never judged me. It was truly what having a real brother was like, even without having ever had one, I could say that with certainty. I just knew.

Which is why I was there. I showed up at the bookstore after hours, but went up the stairs on the side of the building that led to the outside door of the apartment upstairs. Elio knew I was coming, but I still didn't just burst in. I knocked politely, then put my cold hand in my pocket and waited for him to let me in.

I still didn't know how to say what I was feeling, but Elio would help me figure it out.

And I had brought him dinner.

Threaded | Flat

It's bad timing and amazing timing all at once, really.

Jamie texts and asks to swing by when I am deep in the throes of working on a new song, and there only a very small handful of people who could interrupt me when I'm on a roll like this. One of them is out to dinner with some colleagues, and the other is knocking on the door right now.

"Come in!" I call out from where I'm sitting on my closed piano with an acoustic guitar in my lap and a pencil behind my ear, hair pushed back with an elastic headband. When Jamie walks through the door, I play a little riff on my guitar and smile warmly at him. "Ciao, bello."