Pieces

I went to a rock-climbing gym with my brother today. My hands are not happy with the new callouses, but it was a nice way to bond with him.
They were playing music while we were climbing, and I swear they took my iPod and played all the songs no one else has ever heard of, yet are my favorites. It's strange when someone plays a song you thought had reached your ears only. I immediately felt comfortable in that space, which hasn't been a common phenomenon in my life recently.

Walking in the subway station, next to the tracks, I saw the back of a person who looked similar to the boy. About 5'10", short brown hair, wearing similar clothing and standing in a similar fashion.
My immediate reaction was to push him infront of the oncoming train.
My second reaction was to scream and run.
My third reaction--and the only one I followed through on--was to mutter "Little bitch" under my breath and keep walking.

He's everywhere.

I don't say that meaning I see his face everywhere, like so many often do. I say "He's everywhere", meaning there is a piece of him in everyone. Commonly, the piece of him is anger. There is anger in my family, in Flyer, in my teachers, in my friends. That's their piece of him. There's those betraying and those being betrayed, who have never even known myself or the boy. Yet that's their piece of him. There's hate in the world, and that's the world's piece of the boy.

And then there's disgust, anger, remorse, hatred, repulsion, tears, distrust, fear, and depression in me.
That's my piece of the boy.
That's a piece of the boy that's in me.
And that's a piece of me that belongs to the boy.

I must get that piece back.

-Beaskie