(no subject)
I was staring at you tonight in the car, but a fake stare -- where you pretend to be looking a liiiiittle towards them, but ahead. And I noticed your eye from the profile. There was a shield surrounding where it meets the air; It was a blanket of tears that keeps what's exposed from drying out and becoming irritated. The longer I stared, the thicker the blanket appeared. I thought to myself, "Are you about to cry?", "Whyyyy? Whyyy won't you tell me what is wrong?".
If only you could see how caring about you is an endeavor which repeatedly sails through my consciousness. In doing so, it unfailingly re-outlines an entirely new blueprint for me on how to become a better person, and more importantly, a better friend from the empathy you trigger within me. As I sat there beside you, I concentrated on the blanket that had me transfixed, and finally broke my fake stare in exchange for a real one, a noticeable one. Hoping that you would feel its presence, you still remained motionless, face forward, yet still vulnerable to blinking. Not once did you gamble with time to share your glance in acknowledgment.
The blunt staring wasn't just an accidental detour from my usual, stealth lurking. It was surprisingly on purpose because of the empathy steroids your company prescribes me. Just like a bodyguard, I latched onto the sadness blanketing your gaze, and grappled that enemy into reverse. Because you see: even if you hadn't met my eyes just because you needed to ignore me, I knew it was for you to stay strong. And with me staring at you, it beckoned an even greater reason for you to hold your ground. That is why, at that moment, I shamed the criticism behind what is "staring" and its granted reputation. Staring, my staring, had liberated you from a breach along the blanket, which would only have tail-spun your reality into an impressionist painting. It was with staring that confusion could finally be polished, and despite expectations of provoking more stress into the situation, doing so instead precipitated harmony and had wholly deflated the incident. So with that said, "With you, I am there, helping you to stay positive, I am," as though Yoda were to say it, but in non-fiction, that is.
If only you could see how caring about you is an endeavor which repeatedly sails through my consciousness. In doing so, it unfailingly re-outlines an entirely new blueprint for me on how to become a better person, and more importantly, a better friend from the empathy you trigger within me. As I sat there beside you, I concentrated on the blanket that had me transfixed, and finally broke my fake stare in exchange for a real one, a noticeable one. Hoping that you would feel its presence, you still remained motionless, face forward, yet still vulnerable to blinking. Not once did you gamble with time to share your glance in acknowledgment.
The blunt staring wasn't just an accidental detour from my usual, stealth lurking. It was surprisingly on purpose because of the empathy steroids your company prescribes me. Just like a bodyguard, I latched onto the sadness blanketing your gaze, and grappled that enemy into reverse. Because you see: even if you hadn't met my eyes just because you needed to ignore me, I knew it was for you to stay strong. And with me staring at you, it beckoned an even greater reason for you to hold your ground. That is why, at that moment, I shamed the criticism behind what is "staring" and its granted reputation. Staring, my staring, had liberated you from a breach along the blanket, which would only have tail-spun your reality into an impressionist painting. It was with staring that confusion could finally be polished, and despite expectations of provoking more stress into the situation, doing so instead precipitated harmony and had wholly deflated the incident. So with that said, "With you, I am there, helping you to stay positive, I am," as though Yoda were to say it, but in non-fiction, that is.