You carried your pain inside your eyes. You weren’t necessarily broken, but wounded for life in the way that some things don’t heal and we live with it with each step.
I’ve seen that pain in myself so when we looked at one another, there was recognition, and I could say things that permeated your heart, and when I did, your eyes changed, and for a moment, you felt things that you couldn’t locate for your entire history. I was your mirror on the best days, and watching your eyes re-light with life was proof our love was worth something.
On our worst days, your eyes went flat, and I’d push deep into the earth of your being seeking the light that shone through your eyes, and on those occasions I’d fail, and my persistence sent you further and further away. You’d remain dim, and for that I wanted to make you hurt as strongly as was my longing to see your eyes come alive.
That type of pain for me is power, too much power because it’s bigger than my maturity to handle it. That’s in me – those moments when the love that is in my heart is drowned in anger, when the resentment outweighs the kindness, patience, vulnerability and empathy. Who am I going to have to become to stop being that person?