The roads aren't clear yet...guess we'll have to dig our way out...

There was something in your eyes that got me thinking,
that made me hold my breath,
that made me want to step right up to the edge
and stare into the abyss.
Almost as if they were daring me to jump...

I watched the way you held your own hand,
Like you were scared to let it go,
not wanting to be alone.
And all I could think was..
I'm here and mine are empty.
I've got room for two more if you need them...
And I'm pretty good at holding things,
Just not as good at letting go...

I kept noticing how you'd move your hair,
attempting to cover your face, like it offered protection.
Your movements, steady, like clockwork,
never forgetting to keep your veil up.
I wondered then who you were hiding from...
Me or you?

When I asked,
You smiled playfully and said both.
But your eyes said something else entirely...
They glistened a little, lowered themselves behind guarded lashes,
and batted away the tears that they were trying to conceal.
And when they lifted to meet mine again,
There was a sharpness to them, the way an actor ready's himself for his lines.
Then I smiled, and they softened, realizing that I wasn't here for the show.

I have no interest in the actor,
I want to meet the writer.
I want to see the original work of art,
the notes on scrap paper and the scrawled words,
scratched out, written and re-written until it breathed life..
into the one I see before me.

There was something in you're eyes that's left me thinking.