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Showing results for tags 'things left unsaid'.
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Your gaze- it scares me. I’m not even sure if you’re looking at me, or somewhere beyond my shoulder. But as those twin brown spectacles come my way, your delighted voice growing still as your lips come together...you have the barest of smiles, almost a smirk, when I speculate it is that instant when our eyes meet. And it makes me afraid. Like a dam, it feels like there’s so much left unsaid between us... like a potential that should be used, but isn’t. Are we masking what we want to say, as our lips remain in the faintest of smiles? And as I avert my eyes elsewhere, I know I should not be looking at you in this way. If only the current predicament wasn’t what it was, and I would know the truth if you really were looking at me or not! My face may be stoic, like a statue, but I so desperately want it to just slip out of the cracks; I may show apathy, but I feel you can see right through me. It’s the fear that makes the urgency so strong, the worry that somewhere along the main line I slipped up.That gaze is so enveloping, as though this front is transparent, and you know the truth that is on the tip of my brain, no matter how much it needs to be buried. There’s such a great fear that you must see it. But if it went beyond the both of us, fear would turn to anger, anger of an overwhelming mistake made. What’s so captivating is that you’re artlessly happy and humble. Your eyes glitter with content of where you are, and you’re unworried about what burdens you may have. There seems to be no dark corners of your mind, making you a what you see is what you get-from my perspective, it is a fair deal. I’m flooded with a nympholepsy of wanting you when I look at you. Most of all, the eyes I see are patient, like a woman waiting for her captain upon the widow’s walk; that is the worst part of it, that you may be patient. If our understanding of the silence is mutual, I’m terrified that you might be waiting for me. I shiver with fear when you look at me, a fear that you know the truth of the wrong choice that was made. Or even if there’s knowledge that there was a choice. It’s painful to know that you ended up on the wrong side of the coin- even that it was a game, in the beginning. I maimed myself in doing that. Though that was unjust, you were spared the pain, at least, of picturing all the thorough possible fantasies that ever ran through my head, of a whole, sated existence with you. Finding happiness with someone is a seeking of more than the norm, beyond what the next person is line is...and you do that, you are that. Your name is to your nature, and I realized that a little too late. I am paralyzed, to know that I set my sights short, and settled for less, thinking you were just like the next one. I never realized how different that the fork in the rhode would lead to such different places. In the end, I made the unpopular choice.
