Little-boy love...the cleanest pain I've ever known. Love without desire, conditions, or limits - a pure and radiant glow in the heart that could make me giddy and sad and glorious all at once. Where does it go? Why, in all their experiments, did the Magi never try to capture that purity in a bottle? Perhaps they couldn't.
And an inky-colored despair of rejection enveloped me like the black tortilla of depression around a pain burrito.
We know there's going to be nothing but pain, but we go back again and again.
