Tuesday, 18 September 2012

Misty Blue


Misty blue.
Those are the eyes that look at me.
Misty.
That is the confusion the looks you give me, give to me.
I never know what you are thinking.
Such expressive eyes, but they say nothing to me.
I look into them and I can get lost, I can drown in that misty blue.
But you just look back – the ocean swaying backwards and forwards in them.  Each crash of the wave making me wince, but saying nothing more, and nothing less.
You smile but it doesn’t really reach your eyes.
You are too controlled for that.
Even seeming to laugh at a spontaneous joke and you still don’t seem to let your eyes take on your smile.
You can mimic the world around you, just like you seem to second guess what people expect or want from you.  Yet you just can’t let yourself actually feel that.
Why?
Did your Daddy not love you enough?
Did your Mommy refuse to hug you?
Was it something more?
When will you realise that you can’t milk that one forever.
We are all damaged, somewhere, somehow – none of us make it into the adult world unscathed.
All of us died a little on the way.
Each of us lost a little piece of something, some innocence, the ease of laughing.
I heard you laugh once, the sound shocked me, you seem half startled, half mortified.
It’s the closest I’ve seen you come to losing control.
I think you secretly liked it.
Tormenting yourself with what you could have, who you could be.
Knowing you had the power to stop the world you live in, to make us all pause and turn and take notice.
You know just as many men, women and teens would fall for you if you only let your charms shine through.
Instead you are stuck with me.  The only person as damaged as you.
The only person prepared to try to break through.
I’ve failed, but then at the same time you’ve not broken me either.
So is this it?
For us?
Or is this it anyway – this is love? Just being together without breaking each other?
Is that all love really is?
You can’t love someone 100% of the time 100% of the way – you just can’t – it’s not possible – even if they do nothing wrong – that in itself will drive you crazy on the wrong day.
You reach out and touch my neck – it says more than I ever need your eyes or your mouth to say – your hands read me, running over me like a blind person reading braille.
Yet you still do not show me any expression in your eyes.
They are closed to this world.
I don’t think I will ever know why.
I take you to the ocean, we sit, we stare, I can see the sea in your eyes, reflected back at me. There go those waves, backwards and forwards, as my eyes search, your eyes hide.
I blink first.

You sit back.

I know you think you won.

But I found your diary.

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