I don’t know him. I hadn’t even caught his name. Yet when he stood in front of me, at that moment, I saw. I saw that beautifully flawed person that he was. Saw those harsh lines on his face, saw that scar that runs down his left cheek, saw those chapped lips that spoke more than just the thirst for water. More so, I saw the pain that he suffered in those black onyx eyes of his.
People around him mocked him mercilessly for the way he was, but I knew, then, that he was utterly beautiful, and nothing else could justify what he was. No one could look beyond his looks and the way he spoke to others. They could not understand.
But I could. I could.
And to me, that was enough.
A little something that was inspired by both a really really beautiful man, and a really hot dancer,
