i look up & you look away.
you turn to me & i pretend i wasn't staring.
all these signals, all these looks, for what?
for the memory of when those same glances meant something more, something so much more.
when the playful eyes meant secrets concerning one another.
when the lingering gazes were about the present instead of the past.
eyes are windows to the soul, but ours are closed up tight because, sometimes, it's best is certain people weren't peering through your windows.
they might see themselves staring back.
YOU ARE READING
Inklings
Poetryjust a little collection of flash fictions, one-liners, poetry, & other things i've written over the last few months.
