Sunday, October 5, 2008

The Stare

She searches me. Asking. Questioning. Wondering. For she knows where I have been. Her face is full of distrust. She stares at me.

Face
Eyes
Hair
Clothing.

She knows the night has not been lonely. She watches and waits. Echos on the demented face which stares from an empty heart. For the time she sees me in battle. The fight everlasting. The fear, the passion. She can not take anymore. Her eyes float, as if on water. The increasing depths as it overflows and sets me free. Her eyes have let me go. For the red on my shirt is no more a problem. Her enemy has got me. Hit me hard she said. But that did not faze me. I said I survived, I got out without a scrap. But she knew I was wounded. Empty, taken, lost.

She did not hit me as though another did. The red came from her this time. For the silver screaming of metal took her from me. She stopped her crying. Her eyes were now like an ocean of peace. It was over. She had left.

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