I knew I would see you today, but I went anyway. I couldn't bring myself to talk to you, though. It would've been too sad for me, too awkward for you. So we didn't talk, only brushed eyes with each other across the room. And that's okay, because that's how it is with life, and love.

I only wish that you would've said as much in your eyes as I was trying to tell you with mine.
But I saw, read, heard, nothing.

I don't know, maybe it's because you found a new voice for your eyes, one that I can't hear because it's meant for someone else. I just hope that she sees, listens to, soaks up every single thing they say--those brown eyes that I used to know. Because I don't know about this new voice, but the old one, it was the prettiest thing I ever knew.