she said
he is in black, black, gray.. curls and big blue eyes, his hands always look manlier than their years..
he said
she is in stripes and lint, her eyes framed with grown out brows, which, and i hasten to add that i love this, are met half way by a blacker than midnight fringe... her nails ratatat on the brown table.. as her index finger curls around a burnt coffee, satisfied with life, but only just, and only because , she's gazing at me..
she said
i see you when you are unaware of my stare.. to look as deeply into your being as i am allowed. to see your mind working away.. i know that upon every hundred thoughts.. maybe even less, i am there...
to know that when i was playing with dolls .. you were pulling apart toy cars. and yet we somehow naturally, almost subconsciously knew that we would put down the toys and grow.. we met.. half way .. hands reaching for another to play again.. to be complete..
to be able to stare and never grow weary of your blue eyes..