I like looking into your eyes when you talk.
You always seem so excited
so desperate to get your meaning across
and when you finally get there
I like looking into your eyes when you say you love me, but I prefer the taste of the words on your lips, and the feel of them on your skin.
You never look at me when I say those words.
I can’t hold eye contact when I’m speaking.
My words stutter
You show your support in other ways, tangling your fingers through mine, running a hand over my hollow ribs, or just putting your head on my chest and listening to the source of my voice. I like that best, when I can put my arms around you and pretend we’re perfect.
We’re not perfect Brendon, not together.
Sometimes, when we’re arguing, and all I can do is stare at the floor when you throw your feelings at me, while mine are locked in tight, or simply scrawled on ink and paper in some corner of my heart, you make me look at you. I don’t know what you see. I don’t want to know. Does it satisfy you? It must do, because you’re still here. But sometimes, you sigh, and move away, and I’m left staring, looking at you a moment too late.