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I miss her eyes. Baby ass blue was what she called them. She won't even look at me anymore. I don't know if I could stand the thought of even getting another peek into her eyes knowing that I can never possess her heart. Sometimes that is all it takes is one look...one look from a woman is all it takes for wars to be fought and worlds to end.
You told me the that once we had both found someone we'd be happy. I disagree. Just because I have someone else doesn't mean I'll get over you. At best I'll just be distracted, and whenever I try to imagine you with another girl my jealous streak takes over. I'll be happy though when you find someone that makes you happy. You deserve it.
Ugh. You, with your eyes the color of honey in Ball jars in rows at the roadside booth, honey with the sunlight slanting through it. Your smile that seems to say you're enjoying your fall from grace. Your uncontrollably cocky attitude. Your charming but tiresome sense of melodrama. You want me to come out because you don't know how long we'll be in contact, and you want a last kiss. I tell you you're welcome to a planned last kiss from me, and it can take place sometime after 2040. I can hear the dismay in your voice that I'm not dancing on your strings like everyone else, I can feel your mood fall into bits the way the leaves to the ground that night, beauty in tragedy. Again. I'm not saving you this time. I can't save everyone from every little pain constantly. I'm just beginning to realize this.
I have a folder with your stuff in it. Pictures of you hanging onto me like the world's most emotionally dependent vine, all sinew and pale skin that I can recall the taste of. Notes from you, covered in gothy trailing hearts and sheer youthful enthusiasm.
He was looking at me. I turned to look at him, and that's how we stayed. It was so hard for me to maintain eye contact. I'm surprised I was able to go as long as I did. It couldn't have been more than a minuet, but it felt like such a long time. My heart was pounding. Finally I couldn't take it any more and I looked away. I think he understood how hard that was for me and knew how much I was trying. I'm happy that I forced myself to do it though. I think it's progress toward letting him in.
i haven't seen him since sophmore year. i hear stories about him still though: who he's dated, who he hasn't, what rock he's crawled out from under, the music he plays, i'm surprised he's still playing. how he talks, how he stands, how he loves.
last night i had a dream about him, just when i thought i was starting to get rid of him. there's no reason for me to remember. the dream was vague and pointless, foggy to the point that i don't remember a plot or any images except his impenetrable brown eyes.
his eyes revealed nothing to me. i'd heard others talk about this or that look, but i always fell headlong into the deep brown and lost my entire world to the abyss. i couldn't tell hate from love with him.
his eyes are blue...they're always blue. there's the deep ocean blue that has a steel door in the way of the soul. there's the sky blue that is filled with clouds. then there's the guy with the blue that has no decent description...it's BLUE...the color of a mustang mixed with the pacific and it's reflection of the sky...mist can swim in front or rain can fall behind. they're eyes are always blue.
His eyes like winter skies, his thoughts like bare twisted trees covered in the snow of fear and icy self loathing, so cold it freezes him in place, and he stagnates. Nothing grows in a brain mired in the season of death and hibernation. No love, no affection.
I especially love the way that someone who cares for you looks at you. That deep, intense gaze that you almost wish you weren't staring into. I loved the way the way that he looked at me before he left and I still remember how I let go of my guard for half a moment and then he gave me a big hug. That seems like almost nothing, though, when compared to the way that someone new looks at me. He almost hits that last layer that separates me from the rest of the world. That one last layer that is invisible until you run into it, then, suddenly you realize that you never really knew me. I feel terrible when people reach that level. I feel as though I've left them without the answer that they were looking for because they thought they knew me. I told them they didn't know me but they didn't believe me.
I especially love his eyes when he's laying on top of me, hands to either side of my face, brushing my hair back right before he gives me that passionate kiss, his lips pressed tightly agaisnt mine. Those eyes turn a shade of blue that is simply remarkable. Then he tells me that he loves my eyes and I smile again and he kisses me again.