She looks at me, and smiles. But in her eyes I see the scars. Remains of something that happened to her in two years that should happen in a lifetime. Love, deep true love, and betrayal, and loss. Loss of her love, loss of her friends. And realization, realization that she was replaceable. And realization that he wasn’t coming back and nothing she could do would ever change that. But I could also see a glow behind those scars, a power radiating through. A knowing, knowing she had had the last word. While she had tried to help him, he had declined and left, but she was all the stronger. And she would win. I looked at her and wondered how she could say all this with her eyes.
I see he looking at me and I know she’s reading my eyes. Reading the story, the unhidden truth. As hard as I try, my eyes always show it all. It’s not like I’m ashamed of it, anyone will tell you that. It’s just that I see it as a weakness, as something someone could use against me. A weapon I could use against myself. And I didn’t want it all out. I projected myself as strong, at least I tried to. Only my closest friends knew otherwise. People respected me; they didn’t know I had a weakness for love. Of all things, I didn’t want to be weak. Not ever. Someone like me couldn’t be weak.