The Looks Shared

Once again, I'm met with distant eyes, ones that are now hard to find. They rest in the back of my head, perhaps right behind mine.

They are deep, hard to look at. You see yourself within them; small mirrors to your own imperfections.

I recall how I've held them so close in real time. How their color was so bold. How much they had me under his control. I sit in stillness and reminisce.

When we were together I'd dance around, comparing myself to a fool; a donkey with perked up ears. He'll give me that one look where he furrows his brow and grins from ear to ear. Probably thinking to himself 'what the hell is she talking about?'

I cannot blame him for that. I speak in repetition. A foreign language with mispronunciation. Like two separate species of birds singing in trees. A strange polyphony. A song off beat. I do appreciate those looks he gives me.

Often, though, they are met with apathy. Small sarcastic tinges mixed with belittlement. Or so that's how I view it. I've always looked away, out of embarrassment. My looks consist of just that, bashfulness. A broken smile with hyper-vigilant eyes. Always looking for my demise.

His looks always seemed sturdy. Well-placed. I bet he was just sick of me being flaky. I couldn't help but to think he wasn't being truthful when he said nice things to me. His eyes were narrow and dull. Like he was hiding.

I'll always come back to that memory. When I looked up and met his eyes with mine, while the wind blew the hair out of my face, he quickly removed his gaze. As if he had seen a ghost for the first time. My pale skin has always been met with dispraise.

We'd sit side by side, talking. I feel him staring, while I use my eyes as if they were currency. I found that to be a little overbearing. Only because I didn't know what those looks meant to him or me.

I dream now, if only I can see those eyes once more. In a brief encounter, we walk past each other. Maybe he'll cave and invite me out for coffee. He'll order it black, while I get the peppermint tea. And we will indulge. Maybe he'll finally see my eyes have a deep tint of green.

We'll converse about how we've been, mentioning small details, hoping to see a spark again. I will tell him about my new job, and he'll tell me a joke. We're both working hard. I'll scan his face and his only. He'll tell me he's glad for me. With a look of wide eyes, his hands moving towards me, as if he was offering me sincerity.

I'll accept, and take a sip. But he would never know I burnt my tongue. Because I'd smile and look away.