Don't Go Breaking My Heart

Depression consumes him
like thick fog in the night;
his lips turn down, somberly,
but his eyes still shine bright.
That's how I see it, anyway,
when he looks up and tries
to smile at me, but I can
see past all his facial lies.

Except those ocular pieces,
they're so stunningly blue
that I just seem to freeze
and there's nothing I can do
but stare, and that makes
me feel like a creep.
But at least I'm not
watching him in his sleep.

Though I have thought about it,
and that makes me feel worse.
It's just that his stares
hit me like a curse
and leave my knees shaking,
my heart pounding fretfully,
so all I can do is sigh
and smile back regretfully.

If I had the courage,
if I wasn't so damn shy,
I would look right at him
and tell him exactly why
it seems like I'm "always around
to help lift [his] crazy moods,"
that it's because I hate it
when he sits and broods.

It almost takes away his beauty,
that angelic beauty he owns,
when fatigue settles beneath his eyes
and loneliness in his bones.
He confides in me that what's
bothering him is the lack
of anyone around who understands
him and can give his love back.

Is he crazy? Is he blind?
Can he not see
that the person he's asking for,
that person is me?
I would gladly give up
everything that I possess
if he could just realize,
if he could get rid of that distress.

Maybe then he would know,
maybe then he could smile,
and say that it was me
who made his day worthwhile.
At least, this was all what I thought
until that one fateful day;
I asked him what was wrong,
and he started to say,

"Oh, Jon, it's the same old thing
as it always has been-"
then he stopped, and
soon he started to grin.
I thought it was odd,
thought of asking, "What, Chris?"
but when I opened my mouth
he halted my question with a kiss.

It startled me at first,
which made him break away,
but I grabbed his arm
and told him, "No, stay."
And I kissed him again,
never wanting to part,
but he pulled back again and whispered,
"Don't go breaking my heart."

I laughed, which made him look
at me strangely and tilt his head,
so I just told him, "I won't break it,
Chris, I'd rather be dead
than hurt you." And he
seemed to be pleased.
"You know, Jon, you can
hurt me a little," he winked as he teased.

And thus was the beginning of
something that should have started long ago,
because now he's never sad, his eyes
and, well, his entire face only ever glow.
Oh, and I'm happy, too,
though that's secondary to me.
I'm good as long as he is,
and he is, I think he'd agree.