You

Also, you’re not bangable, Beck. You’re beautiful.

There’s a difference.

Dennis Lehane would call it a misguided Ivy League omertà and he would be right.

This kid who was never grounded or beaten or locked up for any sin he ever committed.

How nice am I, right?

The only thing crueler than a cage so small that a bird can’t fly is a cage so large that a bird thinks it can fly.

I fold my hands under my head and tell the books all about you. They listen, Beck. I know it sounds crazy, but they do.

Such small hands.

You look up and now I see a part of you that’s new to me, a part that does want to be killed and I don’t think you’ve ever been loved the right way and you don’t say anything and I don’t say anything and we both know that you’re testing me, testing the world. You didn’t get off that stage tonight until the last person stopped clapping and you didn’t tie your shoelaces and you blamed the world when you tripped.

The world fell out of love with love at some point

Did I mention that you’re lucky to have me? You are. I am a Bed-Stuy man by birth, sober, collected, and well aware of my whereabouts and yours. A protector.

And the bullshit thing is, if someone saw the three of us, well, most people would think I’m the weird one just because I followed you here.

And that’s the problem with this world, with women.