Sunlight.

Your eyes burn the same way light does after sudden flashes, or right after you get up from lying too long on the couch. I shut mine and they’re still there, still lingering neon patches under my lids. 

I’m drawn to how much they give you away. It’s how I read you like an open book, all in plain sight, no hidden corners or blind spots. Sometimes they sparkle and glisten like raindrops on the window still after a storm. Those are the days that I look forward to. Those are the days that remind me why I write so much about you. Why my smiles are a result of your child like humour. 

But sometimes, they look sunken and defeated like the aftermath of a forest fire, and each time I try to resist the urge to wrap you up in the comfort of a hug, it manifests inside. Roots manoeuvring deep in the soil that is my heart, and unless you are mine to keep, I guess won’t be able to do that just yet, not now, probably not ever. 

I hate how vulnerable it makes you out to be, and how vulnerable I become in return. I am naked in your presence, bare and exposed to the piercing winter air even though I hide behind curtains and duvets when you’re around. I keep convincing myself that it’s what makes me crave for your words, but maybe, I never liked it in the first place, it’s what’s keeping us apart.

I’ve never thought about it this way, 

but the truth is,

maybe, 

I hate how much it burns.

I hate how much your eyes burn.