His Stare

His Eyes.

From miles away they would be black.

They stare into

my soul with an

emptiness that I have

never seen before.

Black bottomless pits.

If I were to fall in them, I wouldn’t drown

Like in the blue depths of

Someone else’s eyes.

No, I would suffocate.

Suffocate for the lack of air.

Suffocate for the lack of love.

Suffocate.

He does not love me.

He does not like me.

At least, I do not think so.

Am I that detestable to him?

That I must catch his eye like

A half-formed man

And then he stares as if transfixed

By my ugliness.

Or perhaps, he stares

But not because I am detestable in his eyes.

Maybe to him I am like

A beautiful mosaic

Or a beautiful stained glass image.

Like a replication of the Virgin Mary.

Or maybe, he stares

Not because of any of those things.

Maybe his eyes were drawn to me

because they just were.

Maybe it was a mistake.

But I caught him

More times than not

Looking upon my face as if

It were a mystery.

Should I forget him?

Forget

About these incidents?

Forget about

the past?

For it has happened before.

Do I dare

Wonder?

Do I dare

Ask?