Summer was in his eyes when he gave a cold irritated glare with his sarcastic expression. His lips in a firm line and my confused hurt stare asking him why he did this to me, why he made my heart soft and left it wounded. His answer came in the way he walked away with a broad posture and stiff hands that I could feel suffocating my airway even from feets away. Those summer eyes are no longer warm and they are dead like the dull colour of the leaves in my woods always being stepped on by creatures in the night and my boots in afternoons I go for walks. I walk to the power lines and brook and the old icehouse just to remember how it felt, but it isn't lightweight the way it was before. Those summer eyes are dead and school has started and he doesn't ring me up the way he used to.
