wollflourwer

Your love burns and sweeps through my veins like a wildfire, or maybe vodka through my brain. It is 4:51 AM and I can't sleep my mind is a powerful running machine but my body is still weak. I am not happy yet I am not sad you make everything feel full and content, I am not empty but I am not full. You are sleeping so far away in your bed and I am hoping you will wake well rested but I am awake and insomnia isn't easily conquested. I can't breathe thinking of you but I am forced to fill my lungs and when the time comes for the sun to rise I will realize I am alright... But I still miss you as I always do even though you are always so close an

"Cyrus?" "Yea?" "Are you asleep?" "Obviously not, Mason." Mason, who at this point in time is exactly fourteen years, eight months, and twenty-five days  old, turns over in his bed and turns his bedside light on. Cyrus, who is in a sleeping bag on Mason's  floor and isn't obsessed with numbers, is fourteen-ish years old and tired. "Christ Mason, why'd you have to turn your light on? I was just falling asleep.." Turning to face Mason, Cyrus propped himself up on his elbow, and ran his other hand through his long, curly black hair, flipping it over the top of his head and getting it out of his face. Being only five foot two, he's a small,

He is a summer boy. Golden curls surround his face, curls that fall in front of captivating brown eyes that draw you in and destroy you slowly. He has freckles that litter his cheeks like the stars in the night sky that you can only see when you escape the city and its smog. He is tall, when you hug him he sets his chin on the top of your head and wraps his arms around you, and you feel safe. When you lay down next to each other on his parent's lumpy couch, your head resting on his chest, you have to stretch your legs out as far as they'll go and point your toes for them to be as long as his slightly curved legs. His eyelashes are golden, a