Cut my life into pieces, this is my last resort...

I can't fucking take it anymore. The interviews, the taking of pictures, the having to act happy to sign yet another autograph. The looking into your eyes and not finding you looking back.

All that other stuff would be bearable if I could just have you. I can't even tell you I want you, so I'm miserable. But it's springtime, my only consolation. I am temporarily assuaged by the smell of flowering trees, and rain.

Rain.

I remember last spring -- we went for a walk one afternoon, just to talk, release some of the pressure of our careers. We ended up caught in a rainstorm. Under the shelter of trees we huddled together to stay warm. You were so beautiful -- the rain dripping off your nose -- and I didn't realize it until that day. And it scared the hell out of me.

I'm losing my sight, losing my mind, wish somebody would tell me I'm fine...

I couldn't believe I was in love with you. I would stare at myself in the mirror each morning with brown and artificially red hair clenched in my fists while I told myself that I wasn't. That it was wrong.

Later I would see you. Smiling. At me? I would smile back and hope to give off vibes that would make you feel my desire. No, NO! Swallowed up to chin deep in your eyes, into that pain that feels so good. I'm not supposed to feel this way for another guy.

Adore. Deny. Repeat.

It is making me insane.

There was once when I thought you were going to tell me you loved me. We were in my room one night watching "Superman" yet again. During one of the romantic moments, you turned to me and said, "I have a confession to make."

I still wonder if you heard me gasp.

"I really don't like this movie," you said. I exhaled, disappointed. I bopped you with my pillow a few times, probably more for leading me on than for dissing my hero. When you recovered from the pillow bludgeoning, you smiled and said, "Hey, I knew I could get a rise out of you." You put your arms around me in a lingering hug and I thought the capsule that kept my heart from spilling would burst.

So I need to tell you. Because there's still hope.

I can't go on living this way...

The spring returns to us, my dear Joshua -- the tree blossoms call your name, ask me when I will tell you. And maybe I have waited too long.

I will always want your friendship -- sure as marble, sure as concrete poured at our feet to make it stay. But sometimes I want more...

To hold you when you're upset, to kiss you when the moon is dousing our heads, to say your name in passion as the sun falls behind a glass building.

But knowing I love is like knowing the future -- frightening, paralyzing. Like the possibility of losing you and seeing this future to its inevitable end. But also, to see spring as if for the first time, or to find that your heart is full of these fragrant white blossoms, too.

End.