Disclaimer: I don't own Dead Poets Society. All I ask is that Charlie be delivered to me at the earliest possible convenience, please and thank you.

A/N: I have so many other things I should be writing but I've recently discovered the genius that is Richard Siken and his incredible poem You Are Jeff put this idea in my head so I just had to run with it. I think I should stop reading so much poetry as it produces way too many ideas. However, I highly encourage you to take a look at You Are Jeff along with the rest of Siken's work. He's fabulous. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Reviews of all kinds are welcome!

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him you love him.

You know it's something that's not allowed, that it breaks the rules, that to mention it would be a mistake.

You weren't supposed to fall in love but yet, you did. And you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt.

He told you there would be no feelings, no emotional ties. He explained it to you, said he doesn't fall in love, said he doesn't even consider it, and yet you can't help but hope that he's wrong, that he's confused, that he doesn't know what he wants.

But maybe he does, cocky, confident, so sure of himself, but then again, maybe he doesn't.

You can't be sure; you can't bring yourself to ask.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling.

He doesn't seem to notice, feet propped up on the dashboard, cigarette in hand, smoke streaming into the night, eyes cast upward at the sky, at the moon, at the stars, at the heavens, at everything, at nothing. He's at ease, relaxed and calm, comfortable, blissfully ignorant, unaware of the effects he has on you, of the effects that you have on him.

You could go on pretending forever or you could break and tell the truth, chance ruining the one good thing you have, that you know you're lucky to have. Would it be worth it? Maybe. Maybe not.

There's a hairpin turn up ahead that you don't see coming, that neither of you see coming. It's not too near but it's not too far. It might be the thing to drive you together but it might be the thing to tear you apart.

Consider the hairpin turn. Do not choose sides yet.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, but you've loved him forever.

You've grown up together, toddlers into children into adolescents into adults. You've seen him change, seen him grow, into a man, into himself, into something, into someone, brilliant and beautiful and always just out of reach.

You remember when you knew, when you realized, when you were certain you could love this boy with all your heart, with all your soul, with every part of you.

You've been in love with him so long you can't recall a time that you weren't. It's been so long now, days, weeks, months, years, one, two, three, or four. Maybe it's been all your life, since the day you met, like you're soul mates, like it was planned, like destiny, like fate.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy and he won't tell you that he loves you but sometimes, you pretend he does.

Sometimes he acts like it, inventing the monsters underneath the bed to get you to sleep next to him, chest to chest or chest to back, the covers drawn around you in an act of faith against the night.

And sometimes he doesn't, growing rough, getting bitter, screaming, shoving, using words you can't imagine saying, breaking your heart only to put it back together.

Consider the hairpin turn. It is waiting for you like a red door or the broken leg of a dog.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy and he won't tell you he loves you but he'll tell you he wants you.

He uses you, holds you like a prisoner, like a captive, toying with you until you can hardly stand it.

He comes and he goes, like waves, like a roll of thunder, like a cycle, unbreakable and impenetrable. He'll stay with you for awhile, lead you on, give you hope, and then he'll leave, find someone else, some shiny new play thing to tease and taunt. It's his nature and you know this but you never want to let go.

When he does come back, and he always does, you want to say no but you can't. You can't because you love him, this beautiful boy, and you never say no. You couldn't even if you tried. The word doesn't exist.

You can't break the cycle, can't kick the habit, can't overcome the addiction that's sweeter than any drug.

He consumes you, wholly, completely. He's a part of you and even though he may not know it, you're a part of him, two souls in one.

The hairpin turn is approaching.

It's coming, slowly, faster, coming, coming, coming and then all of a sudden, it's there.

It knocks the wind out of you, this turn, this thing you never saw coming. It breaks you, it breaks him, shatters you both like you're nothing but glass, leaves you broken, grieving, confused.

You've lost something but you've gaining something. You're gaining each other, late night talks and comforting gestures, learning to understand each other as you try to make sense of the one thing you may come never understand.

You're dancing: you're neck and neck or cheek to cheek, he's there or he isn't. He's next to you, right next to you in fact, so close, or. . . he isn't.

You can never be sure where he's going to go but you never expected that you change. You don't rush, you don't pressure, you sit and you wait, days, weeks, months and then finally, finally, he's there and he's open, waiting arms, a version of himself that's yours and only yours, like it always should have been, like you knew it would be.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.

You know that now, you have no doubts.

He doesn't have to say it because it's there in everything he does, everything he says, every touch, glance, kiss, every embrace. You're in love and it's wonderful, a relief, a reward, a blessing.

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, your beautiful boy and you say, I love you, Charlie.

He reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.