Your gaze has always completed the words that came out of your mouth.
Like a garnish atop of steaming food—a small additional, sometimes overlooked but actually complements the whole thing.
Once, you said you're okay but your gaze told me otherwise. Jaded eyes between wispy lashes, too tired to even tell me why you're not okay.
There's always a sliver of truth in your lies, though. So I knew you'd be okay.
Today, you told me that you love me like any other day.
But I realized that this is the first you averted your gaze.
The brown irises that I fell for were not locking with mine.
There's always a sliver of truth in your lies, though. So I know that you still love me—even if it's just a little bit.
And I, have always known that you are a bad liar.
It takes one to know one, after all.
—For you, who tries so hard to conceal everything but will end in vain anyway
