That hint of a childish smile.
The type of longing smile.
The smile that sees, that knows, that desires, that wills, that wants, but         cannot have.
It is a farce.
The smile hides.
It implies.
It is covered, like a pit to trap a wild animal, leaves concealing the certain death that rests beneath a drop.
Aware, knowing of what it is doing, hiding, preventing.
But still it slips.
It still shows.
It shows the truth, the thoughts, the feelings.
That you do not want to show, do not want to have.
But do.
So it surfaces.
Lightly.
Enough, so that the knowing, wary, familiar eye may catch it.
And embrace it.