He opened his eyes only to find her already gazing into them.
He could feel her searching
Looking behind his blue iris.
He smiled gently
So as to divert her questioning eyes.
She frowned when he remained silent.
He knew what she wanted to ask
And knew too that she never would.
He sighed as she dropped her head
And let her hand
fall from his side.
“I’m not like you,” he whispered more to himself than to her.
She barely heard him through the space they both felt
Separating them.
“I’m not like you,” he said, more sternly.
“I can’t just lay myself on the line,
Be who you want me to be.
Be who I’m not.
I can’t show you who I am.
I can’t be who I really feel inside.
I can’t change the way I am.
I’m a listener. An observer. A passer-by.
I won’t be the main event.
I can’t be.
I can’t be me.
I can’t tell you who I am.
Me.
Me.” His voice trailed off as she dried his single tear with her plain fingers.
“Me,” he said again as if to tell himself that he was real.