The world was for the boys who wore their hearts in iron covers and for the men who looked at the world from their stage of necessary ambitions.
The men of the world. Designed for it, structured into it.
They had their seasoned beards for a cause and perfumes that embraced the air when they walked in. Their smiles were smiled for heart-breaks and flawless first-times. They knew how to walk into rooms and fall into place. 
They were the makers and the breakers. God's rocks and mountains -- fierce and beautiful. They were the ones with big-names-to-be and faces that belonged with tuxedos and magazines. 
But he was not so.
He was none of this. He would never be one of God's rocks and mountains. But he was beautiful.
His footsteps were awkward and his smiles were true. He wore his heart in all the wrong places and it always hurt too much. He loved and fell and loved again. It left him a little broken every time and sometimes, the pain and the humans would leave behind scars.
He kissed all the wrong girls with the right intentions. And he loved the right girls at all the wrong times.
He would sit under the summer skies for hours, looking at the clouds and dreaming in the stars. He did not hesitate to tell you that you had the pair of eyes that deserve to make a big deal about themselves. He said his 'I-love-you's like he dreamed-without caution or consequence.
He was a boy-interrupted. He put his feelings in mixtapes and never understood why his sisters fell in love with all the wrong men. The world had no place for his mixtapes and 'I-love-you's. So they put him on the sidelines and called him just another one of those boys.
He settled into his wallflower's silence and fell into his alone-ness. He made better worlds in the stars and the books, created infinities through the tunnels and on hillsides.
He was the boy-interrupted.
He had scars and a string of past lives, half-lived, half-burnt. His broken things would always be a part of his soul. His life would be lived in fragmented infinities and he would open his heart with all its terrible things to everyone who cared enough. Who would love enough.
The thing about being interrupted was, he didn't have to grow up without his broken things, the books and the songs and his infinity. He would love too much, understand too much and care too much. He would always be a little too much for the world.
And that had to be the most beautiful thing a human being could be.
A little too much.