When I see his laser eyes burning through mine, my stomach turns.
I saw him on a night out, spent the early morning hours in his company and went home alone. I saw him on a bus another evening. He asked me to meet him thrice. I agreed to his last invitation of ice cream.
The weather changed dramatically so that when the day we were meeting came, it was dark and damp. The ice cream turned into a cold bench with a beautiful view which then turned into hot coffee.
The two hours I spent with him were annoying, strange, pathetic and yet nice, easy and warm.
He is self-centered, egotistical, ambition-less and superficial at times.
I see more than these stupid traits of his.
He is this man who has never known the intimate love of another. Since I met him a month or two after the death of his father, I see him as a confused, comfort-seeking man in need of a warm hug and a kiss. A proud lothario, I think that he is wary of his relationship with me. He has never, as far as I can see, had someone stick around for as long as I have, and to still be attracted to that person. I think that I scare him as I make him unsure, challenge him and yet evidently care for him. I am also his complete opposite: I am an open book, whilst he is a closed DVD case with a corrupted disc.
He lies, he creates ideal situations and revels in them. He has little silent tantrums when I don’t comply to his set of rules. He likes to tell absurd and usually pointless stories, which is a queue to switch off. I call him by the new name he has chosen for himself, rather than his true Christian name which he still uses as his desktop sign-in. He only complimented me for the first time this last meeting.
I want to show him what I see in him. I want him to discover that he’s more than all that. I want him to see his own warmth, the affectionate man that I find from time to time in his powerful glances and want of closeness. I want him to see how he could be more than the room-mate he idealises, the attractive yet awfully sleazy talent-less artist. I want him to see his own potential, how he could get himself back on track, find a passion in a subject and enjoy himself. I want him to see that he can truly be happy.
I felt similarly towards WelshNash, the beautiful smile stained with the use of marijuana. He had so much potential. Presently arrested multiple times, aggressive and even admitted into hospital for mental illness, I wanted to save him from himself. I tried.
Is this what I want to do to the Artist?
Will falling in love with me save him?