Watching, waiting
I know that you see me out of the crook of your eye.
The corner of your lips turns up into a faint smile.
It’s a game we play.
You look at me, and I see you watching,
and I smile.
when I turn my head,
even just so slightly,
you snap your eyes to something that
you pretend to be busy with,
and I look at the floor and bite my lip,
as if it would show me
those deep, brown eyes.
They pierce the soul,
I could never look straight into them and tell a lie.
I could get lost in them for hours,
in those sweet, brown eyes.
I look back up;
yes, the smile is still there
(and I doubt that you could chase it away)
and I wait,
cautiously,
for those beautiful, brown eyes.
They follow me
sometimes, not always,
but just enough to make me wonder
what they are thinking,
what thoughts are roaming around
behind those big, brown eyes.
I wish that I was looking into them,
and when those eyes meet my own,
I feel as if I am only an
insignificant person.
Yet somehow,
I know,
that even when I don’t see them,
those big, sweet, beautiful, deep brown eyes,
are at least thinking
of my own hazel eyes,
waiting for the words I’ve wanted to hear-
and perhaps
never will.