Peppermint
He's just perfect as mine, the Carrier, who sits patiently waiting for people to produce art for him, like some child who never got over how beautiful paint can be and I said you're beautiful when you look at me that way . His eyes could shine more distinctly than anyone else's I had ever seen, and I had always loved him, like he had known me since I was born. My sister had once said that he was already a part of our family and it was the truth. Especially when there were jokes to be made, which he was the master of, or there was food on the table, which he could always eat even when he claimed he wasn't hungry... and even though his belly never got any bigger and his legs always remained the same perfect shape, like ballerina legs, stretched and long as anyone's I kissed him in the dark cool evenings outside coffee businesses and play houses after masturbating to the idea of his lean arms engulfing my body, after envisioning his wet, red lips ruining my perfect neck line. It wasn't a dream always, you see, and though I never stopped dreaming it at times it turned itself into a reality, gaining speed in its truth until it was every day. Until we couldn't bear to be apart. Until my whole body could have caved in at his sturdy grasp on my waist. I loved him like he loved art, like musicians love music... it doesn't fade or change its form, it just grows into your heart and settles there comfortably like hot tea in January.