11:38 p.m. - February 16, 2002
if i never know.....
This is in two parts; from two different possible viewpoints, if you will. Same story. And sappy and dreamy, and definitely not politically correct and possibly offensive, but this is my diary, so fuck off.

I never have seen a more beautiful boy, not ever, ever, not until tonight when I found myself standing behind the jutting bones of his shoulder blades and the well of his collarbone; shirtless; literally skeletal, the curve of each vertebrae clearly visible. Beautiful in the way one has when they�re not quite human, almost. He had nothing on him, nothing but skin stretched taut and bone and his face was angular with lidded dark blue eyes and a Roman nose and pillows of lips, fine brown hair falling in a curtain and he was beautiful in a way somebody shouldn�t be because nobody ever should be that skinny, but beautiful nonetheless, and his smooth chest gleamed white over where you could count each of his ribs. He was the kind of beautiful that makes you forget who you are.
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The sight of him brushing past me with a girl in tow made me give myself whiplash to get another look, because my first thought was, �in Chicago???� This was the point where my two worlds never met, not in front of my eyes in a fucking concert venue where Anti-Flag were screeching up onstage. But the swish of the hair, and the face came into view, and oh my fucking god it was the same face. Gothic Prince is what I thought four months ago, and I thought it again, in the same wording, inside my head.
It wasn�t so much the face, even though it was, it WAS, but the mannerisms he displayed and the vibe he gave off; no doubt about it; he was creepy, just like he and everyone else claimed. This girl, almost definitely his girlfriend, and he stood behind her like all couples do there, but his hips were far back and only the last third of his fingers rested on her shoulders, slightly massaging, almost absentmindedly, but he never moved to touch her more. It was affectionate, but there was a tangible distance there, and it was deliberate, the way he looked down at the distance between him and other people instead of directly AT anybody, which was the other thing. He never looked at anybody, not the entire time. Not his friends, not the band, not even the crowd, and when Galen ran into him, said, �sorry, man� and shook his shoulder affectionately, he took two slow steps backward, looked not at Galen, but at the space between them. His eyes were saying, clear as anything, -don�t touch me.- The catch phrase of the decade, right? but it was true.
It sounds like it would have been so easy, right, so easy just to go up and tap him on the shoulder and say, �could I ask what your name is? because you really really remind me of someone I know.� But I was frozen to the spot. Touching him felt like it would have been like disturbing a Buddhist monk in the midst of prayer. Just not something you would ever ever do.... and besides I couldn�t move, just stare and stare and think, I could be standing next to him now, brushing arms with him, because I was, after three years of mystery. It blew my mind. �what if it was him?�
Even the moshpit looked like it was floating around him; the distance happening even there. Don�t touch me. I could see it, what it was everyone meant, my mind flashes back to another conversation, he can see through my skin! Yes. Yes, he can.
And another. �i keep my mouth shut when i smile because i have pointy teeth and they creep people out. if i keep my mouth closed i just look distant...� So I looked at him. Open your mouth, dammit. He never did. If only I had seen the teeth. The necklace, the hands, the distance, the eyes, everything, everything, but the teeth, the fucking teeth.
He and his friends left right before the last song was played, slipping through the space between my right arm and the wall. I closed my eyes, took a step toward him, took one right back. I would never know, would I.
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