desireearmfeldt

He’s always felt too much, shouted too loudly, cried too easily, wanted too deeply.  That wasn’t survivable, so he learned to hide it.  He painted himself an enamel shell: easy smile, ironic laugh, and then the whole package of queer mannerisms that he donned like a costume.  The intellectual artistic caustic funny poof.  He became someone people could respect, like, even touch.  From arm’s length. 

And then Geoffrey ripped through his life like a maelstrom.  It wasn’t the man’s beauty or his talent that doomed Oliver, though he did have those in spades.  Geoffrey was wildfire, tempest, mayhem to match the best and worst that Oliver had stored up behind his smooth facade, but Geoffrey’s passion flowed out of him, lighting up the world, chaos controlled, shaped, transformed.  Depth and strength and desire to match Oliver’s own.

But not for him, as it turned out.

And not so controlled.  As it turned out.

Geoffrey’s own demons tore him to shreds.  Perhaps he stole Oliver’s as well.  All Oliver knows is that since Geoffrey’s face melted into shadow, the only thing left inside him is silence.