(no subject)
In his apartment, he's the only color. The whole place is white and it almost reminds me of that old mind game that compares your reaction to a utterly white room and your feelings about death. I think my feelings would be a little skewed now, because white exists only to make him even more vibrant. White exists only to be accented by his skin, his hair, his lips. It has no qualities outside of those he brings to it, and he brings beauty.
Ironically, I don't think I've ever been in a place as dark as his house. Unlike the apartment, the house is all deep, rich tones. It's the kind of place that is still dark at the peak hour of the sun, when all the drapes are open and all the lights are turned on. The only thing that makes it bright is having him here. He's happy, and the place just glows with him. I don't even want to think about what it must have been like when he wasn't happy.
There are other things that I could talk about, but he's the only thing on my mind.
Ironically, I don't think I've ever been in a place as dark as his house. Unlike the apartment, the house is all deep, rich tones. It's the kind of place that is still dark at the peak hour of the sun, when all the drapes are open and all the lights are turned on. The only thing that makes it bright is having him here. He's happy, and the place just glows with him. I don't even want to think about what it must have been like when he wasn't happy.
There are other things that I could talk about, but he's the only thing on my mind.