thanks for the eyes.

your eyes looked hauntingly familiar. i felt like you were pulling me in to some secret. begging me to understand something. you sat down and i though little of you, but those eyes kept boring into me. they saw something more than what strangers would let on to knowing. you saw what we were for what we were. never give up on love. be happy because that is everything. you knew we loved eachother. you called me attractive and you called him handsome. it could have been nothing, a drunkard's attempt at a compliment, but i thought you sensed something more, the way i did. i reached and held his hand and you smiled at us with an unplaceable emotion. you mumbled to yourself and i tried to reply but i couldnt summon the words. i was mutely bewildered, touched by the momentary joint in our three worlds. the countless faces i pass by without a second thought, what ocean of new ideas could i witness, what array of insight could be mine? anyones? we went our ways and you went yours. you said one last thing. thanks for your eyes. i realized later it didn't mean nearly as much as i though it had. he stared into his eyes and i thought he could see what i've seen. the beauty that's behind it. and i'll never really know.

Comments

teardas

this is the reason i broke up with him in the first place. because it was so much stress and it just seemed hopeless. i know that's a harsh word but its true. he's got so much on his plate and i dont want any more on mine. i have my own set of worries i need to take care of. but i cant just turn him away. the way he opened up to me...it litteraly moved me to tears. i feel his dispair, his depression. he has nothing. but i dont want him to have no one too. at the moment i feel thats all i can do; give him the comfort of knowing that i'm here for him, that he has me. contrairy to his beleifs he hasnt lost me. if he really had, i wouldnt have seen him yestrerday, or tuesday, or any times before that. we wouldnt have acted or talked the way we did if he'd truley lost me. his words stung because i felt his pain through them. his feelings soaking the words and turning them a different colour. i never told him to get the fuck out of my life, but it hurt to know thats how he fe

neighborhood nights

I feel like somewhere along my life there was a shift. Suddenly nothing was for fun any more, it was all necessary. Suddenly I'm bothering with what others think, afraid to link any connotations I deem negative to my being. Why do I care what people I've never met, who'll forget they ever saw me, think of me; this obscure stranger in their peripherals. It's a warped sense of mind and place, seeing the space around me in my mind's made up ways. So I stray away from everyone, isolating myself unwittingly, turning them against me. Self fulfilling prophecies, I succeed in creating this reality. I need to break free from my mind's mentalities, with which negativity has propelled me. So I've started a new sport. I call it neighborhood night dancing. Donning headphones and heading out alone to the empty streets as the city sleeps, and moving to the beat. Letting it compel me towards a freedom long gone missing. Letting go is an art. Complete release is a tough

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rude awakenings

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