Her Eyes

“I plumb the darknesses of existence, to save you the pain.” – Kenneth O'sirus in The Book of Black Days

We had just finished talking about who hurt who, the same old argument. She had sent me a note and I had been hurt. My hurt lashed out, sending a text message filled with the kind of foolish hurtful things that hurt says. I should have felt lucky that she came to my apartment to discuss it at all, but, my thoughts filled with the wild rages of my wounded heart, I did not. I had come to take her for granted, believing no matter how much we hurt each other, she would always come back. Our arguments always went this same way, followed this same script. How long had it been since we had really communicated or had we? What was it that held us back? Will I ever know? I can't remember the argument; it was probably the same recriminations and misunderstandings, she starting with her usual accusation that I never listened to her, me interrupting her with my usual protestations that I did, succeeding in proving her point. Afterwards, does it really matter what was said, when both felt backed into a corner, unwilling to listen, each talking separate simultaneous monologues ended only by our fatigue? Fatigued, clinging together, all temporarily forgiven, two heart beats, communicating without words, I looked into her eyes. Falling, …

I fell into her spiral eyes and became her tears.