text: At first, I hated them. Including him. They moved in, their stuff piled in boxes, dust floating and swirling in the light that streamed through the living room windows. The father was tall, his body bulky, his stomach protruding out, with a layer of fat built on top of muscle. He had a square face, with thick brows, and a monster of a mustache growing over his thin lips. The mother was small, yet her personality made her seem tall. A subtle, yet powerful “Here.” would make either of the men put down whatever they were carrying in the spot where she indicated with her painted fingernails. Her noticeable curves swayed perfectly with her high heeled feet. Her short, curly blonde hair brought out her eyes that seemed to have photographed an unearthly ocean. The son was something of a sight. He stood at a height between the two parents, yet he was almost the height of his father. Clearly a young man, the boy was most likely done with his height. His round cheeks were accented by a strong bearded jaw. Freckles scattered across his face like the stars in a white galaxy. His blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight, as in his beard seemed to be aflame with strawberry red. His eyes glowed with blue as flecks of brown seemed to circle his pupil. He had a thick neck, and a square body. He too had a similar build as his father, yet the soft, beautiful features of his mother. With a pat on the back from his father, the three started to unpack their lives in the shell of the house that I used to call home. It was worrisome, to see such beautiful people take up the space that I took up. The parents took up the master bedroom on the first floor, near the kitchen and the dining room. The son took up on the second floor, on the opposite side of the house, accompanied by the living room. Each floor had its own bathroom, along with the master bathroom that was connected to the parents bedroom. It was something of a sight, to see two people make love. The father, Steven, always started with slightly bringing down one of the mother's, Kara's, straps from her nightgown. She would always giggle, as he would slip down the other and let the pretty pink silk fall swiftly to the wooden floor of their bedroom. It was always romantic and full of pure lust. His deep earthly growls seemed to ground her heavenly moans as they paced to the rhythms of their breathing. My father was never in the picture, my mother always alone in the bed herself. Why would no man ever want to make love to a woman such as she? I wished someone would've held her the way this man did his wife. I wished it everyday to be able to have a father in the life of my mother and I. The boy sat alone, and quietly did his own things in his own part of the house. Aside from college schoolwork or football practices, he would just sit and listen to the most beautiful music. Granted, I hated the music. It was something he enjoyed, therefore I had to hate it. Sad melodies cried out along the electrical beat of synthesizers as he lie in his bed, sometimes tears slowly falling from his lakeside eyes. Overtime, his tears began to mean something to me. As one began to glisten down his face, I had the sensation to cry myself. I'd never had that before. There was a girl once. She visited for dinner, spaghetti with breadsticks (Italian night), and swiftly left the table with the boy to go up to his room. After small talk, they began to kiss. As it prolonged, they started to become restless. The boy, Kendall, started to run his hands through her hair and she began to unbuckle his pants. My heart began to... My heart... His computer seemed to light up with light as the sensation of crying pulsed through me, his sad songs blaring through the speakers. The two pulled away, and with one glance, the girl had a confused look on her face as she looked at the bearded young man. “I-I think I should go...” she said as she jumped up, and grabbed her bag. Kendall... he sat there, and stared at his computer. Tears were started to dry on his cheeks as he took in a deep breath. “T-thank you, God.” He whispered through shakey breaths. I could feel it, the heart that he had hidden underneath the flesh and blood that surrounded his soul. It seemed to beat frantically, but not in the way of love, but out of regret and misery. Naked pictures of men flew through the reflection of Kendall's mind as he let his eyes flutter shut. That night I sat in his thoughts, and experienced everything he lusted for. As he kissed me, I felt his hands glide over my skin. Up over my torso, down my back, and then... With a simple push, I felt pure bliss. He growled softly as I let out a gasp of pleasuring pain. As we made love to the rhythm of his heartbeat, it felt like blood seemed to rush through my veins. My heartbeat picked up its dead weight, and began to race along his. I opened my eyes, and looked straight into his. Our world seemed to slow down, our pleasure euphoric; our utopia indestructible. I knew he'd see the physical body of a young man exactly his age, his light skin covered in patches of dark hair. Slightly shorter and smaller in body size, I still had a decent amount of weight. Our bodies were nothing close to perfect, yet it was something that felt perfect to me. My green eyes seemed to glow in his, and my black hair seemed a shaggy mess. I knew that in his eyes, I was beautiful. That's all that mattered to me. Weeks turned into months, and months soon became a year. It was something we held special to each other, those nights in his dreams. Imagine, the dead in love with the living. A year became two years, and then to four. Slowly he made his way out of our house, and it was something that I grew to hate and admire. He was someone I loved, yet life compelled him to move forward. I never wanted him to stay longer than he had to, or even worse, stay as long as forever with me. The idea was full of toxic longing, yet seeing him move on was something more beautiful than anything I had ever witnessed. I loved him. For who he was, and will continue to still love him, for who he will be.