I thought I saw you, for that half a moment where divine and fate came together thrusting me and you (oh could it be you?) together.

You did not look up, but your eyes flickered to and fro---at the ground, at the surrounding people---just as my eyes do.

And somehow, in the middle of our butterfly eyes time stood still. Your eyes met my eyes. They stayed in place. They spoke those words the mouth is not made to say:  

Is it you, my love? Is it you I have been waiting for? 

Eyes tell stories and speak words the mouth is not ready to say. Look into one's eyes and you shall know their story.

Oh you may not know the minor details---the specific names, the specific places, the specific situations---but you will know the state of their soul. And isn't that what truly matters? For you will know if their life has been hard and their story difficult. You will know if the chapters written in their book of the soul have been beautiful. You can tell if someone has came in and broke their heart, shattering those hopeful eyes. Perhaps even their life. You can tell that their life was ruined the day that someone ended it all but they have tried to pick up the pieces and smile their pretty smile, getting about life as if nothing happened.

Yet their eyes betray them.

If your eyes could speak, what would they say?

And I thought I saw eyes that spoke. Eyes that my soul knew well. Eyes that belonged to the other half of me, the man I write the letters to, the one whom my heart loves.

But in just an instance it was all gone and your eyes fell to the ground and I have been trying to find them again because my eyes have a story to tell and I wish someone might listen.

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