Longing Eyes


(Lillian Zepeda [CC / Flickr])

When I’m here with you, I can see you’re not really with me. Not that I say anything. I just watch your gaze drift away to…who is it that you’re looking at with those longing eyes? A younger man? A man with a humorous tilt to his smile that promises you the laughter I can no longer give you?

Not me.

While you long for someone else, I long to have that look turned on me again. A couple of seconds of it would deliver me to ecstasy.

I say something to you.

It’s a clumsy attempt to capture your attention. I seize the first thing that springs to mind. I speak of birds or buses or books. I caught myself babbling on about sardines the other day. I’ve no idea why I was thinking about fish.

My voice drones in my ears as you paint that smile across your lips. The polite one that doesn’t touch your eyes, leaving them free to focus on something behind me or nothing at all.

Tell me one thing. Why are you here at all?

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Posted in Saturday Hooptedoodle

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