a boy turned up at my door and he showed me his rag, which had bright yellow stars on it. he didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes were big and gleaming. i knew he was beautiful. i took him inside and i wiped the dirt off his skin with one of my own rags, and the rag was dark blue, and it had the moon woven onto it. he winced a little as i tended to his scrapes and cuts. the expressions of his face were my own, it felt like looking into a mirror, or seeing a candid video.

it was sunset, and light was pouring over the oceanside like milk. the trees on the median strip of the road near my house were tall, and the leaves had been gone for what felt like a long time. my curtains stayed open, for the brief daytime periods of sunlight, for the sun’s healing glint. my plants were long since dead. i thought of the sabbath.

the boy didn’t seem to know how to speak, or perhaps didn’t want to speak. his silence was not an uncomfortable silence, for he was not inexpressive, merely mute; his hands moved more smoothly than anyone i’d ever seen before, as though every motion were practiced a thousand times in front of a river, and his footsteps had an elegant flow to them. he seemed not originally made for this world, but well-adjusted to it. he operated a bathroom sink like he had never seen one before, but was quickly learning.

i watched as he stood in the bathroom, grooming himself, from a few meters away. i was enraptured by the cascades of his bodily motion. i felt that anything i do could irrevocably stain him, in a fashion too permanent for me to be comfortable. it was hard not to think of him like a butterfly that had landed in my palm, and it was harder yet not to imagine closing my fist.

it brought me to tears when i looked into his eyes and saw eyes that looked like my own. his skin seemed soft, like it hadn’t been meant for whatever had left it so defiled. my heartbeat felt sick. he still had not said a word.

i lifted my left arm, and palmed the air in front of me, in front of him. he lifted his left arm, and did the same. i lifted my right arm, and matched its pose and form, like a mime. he mimed back. i thoughtlessly spurred myself to action by moving the heat in my chest into my legs, and i stepped forward. our hands connected, and we were touching, palms to palms, fingers to fingers, body to body.

i pushed my right palm into his a little, testing the resistance, and i found that he did push back, just enough to hold us in about the place where we had started. i did the same with my left palm, and felt just the same. i looked into his eyes and felt my heart jump. his pupils were so large.

we were still in the bathroom, and i was overcome with the desire to prostrate myself, to drink the small pools of water he had spilled on the tiled floor, to get as much of my skin on the scummy bathroom surfaces as possible. i wanted to make myself dirty, to show myself as filthy, and i wanted him to keep looking at me with those clear eyes. those eyes that told more stories than most have ever heard, could ever fathom.

i devised to play a trick, my scheme existing only as a flash in my mind, less a consideration than a prophecy, as my insides were burning and i did not feel in control of myself. i felt the familiar sense that took so much practice, the sense of letting go, of allowing something else to take the reins. i pushed harder with both of my palms, and he matched my pressure. i let it last, i felt the heat of our hands touching one another, and i felt the sweat starting to build up on us from being in contact for full minutes. i started pushing harder with my left hand, and he pushed harder to maintain equal resistance, meaning a lot of force had built up.

i quickly pulled away my left hand, and he didn’t stumble forward so much as glide forward, gently, and all in an instant; as he leaned forward, i pulled away my right hand as well, causing his right hand to bash into my shoulder, which was pain i did not mind. with him still in mid-fall, and both of my hands free, i swiftly placed my right arm around the back of his neck, and pulled him into me. i put my left hand on his waist, for stability. he was silent as a stopped clock. i placed my lips upon his neck, gently, and i felt as his whole upper body tensed, and trembled a little.

my apartment was on the third floor of four, and the building was always jostling with noises of life. i lived in one of the few walkable areas of my city, with a few convenience stores nearby, and a lot of restaurants and larger stores if i was willing to make the trek over the highway, though it was much too cold this time of year for me to truly ever want to go outside. i was surprised by the knock on my door, as i live alone, and nobody else had even witnessed what was behind my front door in months, let alone been inside. my upstairs neighbors liked to do their vacuuming at 3:00 AM. it was not uncommon for hearing them to be my most intimate human contact of the day.

he moved quickly and suddenly. i felt alarmed, so i gasped, and before i had any understanding of what had happened, his right arm was around the back of my neck, and his left hand was on my waist. we were standing up, but we were holding each other. he went to place his lips on my neck, and just as they would have made contact, i was alone, and there was no boy to be seen. i could still feel the heat of his touch on my side, around my neck, but there was no sign of him. i spun around with an ungodly fear, and saw nothing but my apartment’s interior, looking the same as it looked every day.

i had never felt my heart race that fast. my vision blurred as i tried to understand what had happened. it felt like i was coming out of a trance, like i hadn’t noticed my mind had been working improperly until it all came back in a realizaton of crushing weight. i didn’t care if he was a ghost, or a demon, or an angel, i wanted him to come back. i yelled an expletive, and i did not fully understand why. there was no one else in my home to hear it.