Open

After his most significant loss,
Through years kind enough to hurt,
He held onto himself with fear and trepidation,
Fearing any more loss could be the weight, to tip the scales of senility,
Closed so tight, that not even the prying bar of love,
Could release thoughts, feelings and emotions.
Moments of levity cause him pain.
Never allowing himself to let go of his greatest loss,
Knowing the sour state, and bitter words.
Smart enough to know that what is done is done.
Yet stupid enough to allow closeness to dissipate for safety.

To be open,
To be visible,
Is a breach of an impenetrable wall.
One so often lamented,
yet virtually impossible to dispose.

Until the day it crumbled just a bit,
One peek into the inner workings,
Enough to infect a perfect system,
Perfect in its efficient exclusivity,
Imperfect in its acceptance of outside stimuli.

Currently the imbalance rocks him slowly,
Making him feel an intense yearning,
For something unattainable, which leads to questions,
Pain, and improbable thoughts.

Ending up.....

Her eyes....

It's hard not to compare that first look in her eyes, to something only described as a miracle. Sunsets, sunrises, shooting stars, and eclipses, so universal yet unequal.
To make any effort to be acknowledged, to prove ones existence becomes a weighted endeavor.
To continue from there, has been life.
We often cheapen what love is, thanks in part to so many things.
The silver screen, television, literature, and life.
Often being jaded once, is being jaded forever, and being unable to feel what we should be so fortunate to experience.
To feel love, to be in love, to actually BE love.
This is the sole ingredient of which her eyes are made of.
The eyes, the windows of the soul and mind.
Can teach one all they need to know in a matter of moments, unbeknown to either party.
Much like a download of emotion, thought, and sentiment, that cannot be opened as quickly.
From all that is taken, one cannot comprehend, or understand that foundation, without building upon it.
Leaving such an act all to itself, makes it pass thoughtfully but inevitably away.
So to allow what the eyes disclose, to become the mouth and heart's discussion, begins the continuation, of the addition, to the foundation.
It takes not a day, or a week, or a month or a year. For these things can not be timed.
Until at last, that which has been built up from foundation, has become furnished with all that one learned through the one glance through the windows of her soul.
The fears, the emotions, the trials and tribulations, everything with each passing glance becoming not just information.
But a case against the on-looker's heart.
One it will surely lose, resulting in him being found guilty of love.
All of this internally never seeking justification or acknowledgment externally.
For while the trial of his heart takes place, true life continues.
Both parties continue on with the lives they make for themselves.
Then one moment, one thought, one rogue emotion.
Brings his life crashing down, because it will all be a lie, all that he tries to know and believe.
Never, coincide with what he saw that day he looked in her eyes.
He will spend days after weeks after months attempting to turn back the clock to go abck to a time when he didn't have to realize what can no longer be repressed.
He will fail, time and time again.
He will face the questions that bring humanity to it's knees, those of confrontation, or dismissal.
Much like in many situations, he will be unable to choose either.
Leaving him to mourn love.
Not because a love will die, but because he can never let love live.
All because of a look in her eyes,
One silly little look.
His life will never be the same.