So I'm in Dublin rooming with this amazingly attractive man from Brazil by sheer chance of finding some faceless "HOUSEMATE WANTED" ad at the hostel (which I was instantly accepted for, because, you see, there are perks to being innocuous and Asian [you're not likely to fuck up the place]). I'm not going to post pictures because he is probably going to be displeased that I'm writing anything at all about him and because he is mine: I don't want your objective eyes seeing him.

His family farms in Brazil near Sao Paolo and he is the prodigal, ripped son who also smells nice--his older brother stayed behind to help his father farm the cows/coffee/soy/everything. He is 23 (I guessed his age correctly on the first try [hint: everyone is 23 except when they're not]) and he's in Dublin to study English and business administration (he also laughs like something feral at full moon [Do they teach you to laugh differently, in Portuguese?]). He just finished his exams and now he must find work in order to pay for a plane ticket back home. "Do you miss your family?" he asked, and he finished, "No, everything is new for you. I've been here for 1 year, 7 months and 28 days now."

Isn't it strange, how affection (even the smallest amount) changes the way you say things? If he were a back-alley stabber, I'd say he had carvery skills and find it charming.

It is unbearable, sleeping beside him, because I imagine things that he'll never understand: I can imagine him dreaming in droplets, things I'll never understand.

You see, he has a girlfriend (and he learned Spanish, just so he could speak to her).


And that, succinctly, is the end of that.


Protip: Whoever you are, don't leave your worn speedos on your bed. Please.