I still remember your vibrant almond eyes as they were, a little more than a year ago. They were always so crucially different from any other pair of eyes that I had seen, all throughout my heaving, little life; they had tremendous movement inside of them. And if I stared for too long, which I would have no knowledge of because I would often lose track of the time whenever our gazes struck, then it was almost as if I could see the beginning and the end to everything and nothing all at once.
Running your calloused, left hand through your slicked black hair, you asked me excitedly, even though there was no hint of it in your voice and your actions,
“How are you? How have you been?”
I carefully mulled over the question while glancing around. You were always surrounded by an annoying, raving sea of people who very much envied our undying affection for each other and my relationship with you. You never really talked to anybody else with the kind of vulnerability and patience that you had with me. Slightly flustered and not knowing how to respond, especially because I hadn’t seen you for so long, I casually threw back with some sass,
“Well -.. I don’t know.”
And I paused before continuing, watching your face turn and your lovely eyes roll in disgust at my overuse of always not knowing,
“Good? I guess? How can one answer that when we have so much to catch each other up on.”
At that, the question that I said as a statement, you smirked with that beautiful smirk of yours, as if you had practiced and perfected it during your adolescent days, and nodded your head slowly in agreement.
I should really call you, maybe sometime this week, to meet with you.
But it would be very bad for my health.