this is just a story

I want to tell you a story, about a boy who sits in the grass in front of a brown house, in the green grass, with purple burns on his pale arms, and warm smile on a cold face framed by blond hair and blue sky. This is a boy who wants to know things, and I don’t always know why he wants to know, or why he feels he needs to know, but he does, and it's refreshing, it's sad, it's too many things to accept so I have to begin to deny them. Pretend I don't know why. Just accept as it, end of story. I can't tell this story. I need someone else to do it, I guess.