"I stumbled across your sister today. She looked at me long enough to know my eyes still carry hurt. But quick enough as to not make it obvious. I guess she didn't know how to. She was similar to you in that way. I remember, you always had a habit of locking eyes but then looking away as soon as I realised. For some reason, you found it uncomfortable. I asked you why once, and you looked at me, and then gazed out the car window. You said: 'Your eyes tell me you're not okay..' You paused. I remember you kept pausing. I wonder now, was it because you didn't speak from your heart? You continued and you said: 'And although, at times you're happy. You're not. And it makes me wonder if I'm the reason behind them being so dense. If I'm the reason behind the pain you try so hard to conceal.. so I look away, as a way of accepting that perhaps it's a part of you, that you don't feel comfortable sharing.. not yet anyways.' I recall myself going over these words over and over again. At first, I felt flattered that someone would look into my eyes for such a short while and yet know so much. As though their peeping into my soul. But then it all broke down. And as I did other things: I also gave this some thought. I realised. You knew. You knew all along. But you weren't supportive? How did I ever believe you loved me when you were always thinking about yourself? How could I not realise this earlier on? It was like you were telling me, 'you're hurting and I know this but I don't want to do anything so I'll just brush it off and pretend it doesn't exist.' The funny thing is, even though it's what I think you meant, a part of me still believes there was some depth to your words. Why?"
