I hate those eyes. They’re big and too revealing, and sometimes scary. Scary? They’re beautiful but there’s something in them that terrifies me. I see your pain and sorrow and I wish I could ease them, but then you stare. Or maybe you just glance but to me it feels like staring. So I look away, afraid that you’d see through me and recognize the remains of whatever I have confessed to you before.
I love it when you laugh. Your eyes become smaller, and it relaxes me because they’re not as piercing anymore. There’s no need for me to hide behind the glasses that are not tall enough to shield me from your glance anyway, or to suddenly grab a book and feign studying. I guess I’ll just keep you laughing. Then I won’t have to look away.
I don’t understand why I feel the need to hide when I have already exposed myself. Maybe it’s because things are different now. You are free (yes, but you choose to remain in that cell of yours), and this could be a better time for me to hang around with you more often. Things are not as simple as that, unfortunately. You’re broken, and although I want to help you move on, only you can decide when to start the process. For now I should keep my distance and hope you find that evasive healing.
Here's looking at you, kid.