creased around the edges

like a well-read love letter

her eyes reflect a past

in black and white

a photograph

of cream paper in a mailbox

anticipation

and butterflies.

her eyes skim

then scan

then read

then treasure.

deep blue

like the sea

upon which he sailed

the same

cerulean

that swallowed him up

when fire met water

a war within war

when man couldn't win.

her eyes wept

and pooled

salty tears brung her closer

sparkling stars

she sees

as she reaches up

her spotted

knobby hands

towards the endless sky

she looks at me.

"soon,

baby girl,

I join papa.

my eyes have seen much

but they ache

to see him."

I see my mother

and watch

her tired eyes

smile.

Diana never understood why people hated the city. She loved it! Having lived there for three years, she always found the people kind and helpful and as long as you didn’t take stupid chances, in her opinion, it was as safe as anywhere else. It was the best place in the world to live, she thought.

Until she didn’t.

***

It was a beautiful summer day; everyone was taking advantage of the low humidity and pleasant temperatures of the early afternoon. Lunch breaks were in full swing and the city sidewalks were teeming with people.

It happened suddenly. She was walking cheerfully, enjoying the sunshine and the crowds. She smiled at people as she walked, including him. His eyes were an angry ice blue and they scared her a little as she walked by, but she smiled anyway. No reason to be rude. One minute, Diana was unconsciously strolling, the next a hand shot out and grabbed her neck, squeezing. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t scream. She heard, “watch it” and “what the …”, but no one stopped. No one intervened. Her eyes bulging, she could see people looking then quickly averting their eyes. He walked, holding her by the neck and waist, and did not crash into anyone on the sidewalk. As she felt herself losing consciousness, she thought, are they actually moving out of his way?

He turned down a shadowy alley and quickly dropped to his knees with her beneath him. Loosening his hold, without releasing her, she breathed in the stench to let loose a scream. But then another she had not seen put a knife to her throat. She swallowed her scream.

Her summer dress was a flimsy piece of nothing meant to do little more than suggest fashionable fluff covering the barely-there thong she wore underneath. He ripped them aside as if they weren’t there. As if she weren’t there.

And then she wasn’t.

She passed by me on the train that day.

Going where? Not a clue.

All I can tell you

is where her eyes took me to.

A field of delicate blue and violet petals.

Flowers swaying in a warm summer breeze.

I watched her gaze out the frosty windowpane,

to the dreary clouds who hung frozen in misery.

Yet in her eyes she dreamt of that far-off place,

it was then that I witnessed her own dainty iris bloom.

This was her season.

Her time to bask in the sun’s rays,

her time to live a life better than the life she’s seen.

Yet this fiery spirt still resided

only within the confines of her soft lashes

her own prison bars.

The passion didn’t-couldn’t extend to her lips.

Downturned.

Nor her small frame.

Rigid. Petrified.

She was still afraid.

She was a plucked flower on a mantle,

There for show,

much a damsel.

Not distressed

(that notion laughable).

But robbed she was

of her autonomy.

Nothing left to do in her prison

Nothing to do but wither.

Yet in her eyes,

in her eyes there was hope.

I love and thank you. I was looking for a forever home and then you found me. You saved me, you show me you love me. I feel your love when I hear my name when you come in the door. I feel love when you say, "are you hungry" and you feed me. I feel your hand on my fur and feel safe. I feel wanted when you sit on the sofa with a fuzzy blanket on your lap and call my name. You buy me toys and you play with me. You take me outdoors so I can feel the air on my fur, smell the freshness, stretch in the sun. Everything you do is for me, you love me, can you see my love for you... in my eyes?

"Not from here?"

I can hear his eyes though I look at my shoes. The train station is the most uncomfortable part of England, by far. There's a crowd of petals on a black bough and I am a fly, slithering thrugh sensitive hairs trying not to be eaten. I look up to see if the train has arrived and accidentally catch the gaze of a little girl. She is dressed in a maroon school coat and a grey skirt. She smiles and pulls at her mother to look at the spectacle. I pull my hood further over my face though I am sweating against the cold damp air.

"All it does is rain," I murmur.

"That's England for you," a man chuckles to my right.

I don't respond and look at my shoes. I have the peculiar quirk of turning my feet inward when I am nervous. I straighten them, but a man shuffles by, and they are back again. I hold my hands in my large pocket and play with my change. I am starting to get better at identifying them. The octagonal (hexagonal) one is a fivty pence, the heavy gold one is a pound, the serrated edged one is... I hear the rain whiz up. My heart settles. I can go back to my dorm room and eat the most American thing I can find and try to calm myself down with mysic. Something in Spanish...

Lost in thought, I step forward to hit something hard and soft and warm. I look up into the eyes of a British man. Mild annoyance, intrigue, and a hint of confusion is relayed in an instant, and he smiles at ther terrified creature before him.

He looked above, below, around, and beyond those who passed by. He went about the business of washing himself in the public fountain, feet emerged in the water, stripped down to his still white undershirt, as if he was in the privacy of his own bathroom. In homelessness and helplessness, he washed himself with a blue towel dipped in the water, wrung out, and used to wipe away the street dirt. Perhaps even a little angry, he refused to look the others in the eye. It was only by chance that I got a glimpse of the shame that he was trying to hide.

He wrings his hands, picks at his cuticles; the battle scars on his arms proof of a war fought inside.

Perched upon the edge of the bench, ready to flee at a moment’s notice, he stares.

Not at anything in particular, just gazes into the abyss, lost in his own thoughts.

You can almost hear them.

Worthless. Useless. Hopeless.

You take a deep breath, savoring the crisp fall air, and let it out in a warm puff, proof of your being.

You make your way over to the lonely bench where he sits, waiting. You take a seat next to him as he snaps his head up; wary. Hurt deeply. Who did this?

His eyes meet yours in an instant. Blue mixes with green, hiding the pain that resides inside. But you can see it.

You can see the shards of doubt pierced into his soul, the scars of shame laced among the shreds of fear.

But there is something else in there. Shrouded behind the terrible despair is a small flicker of hope and resilience. So small that he may not even know it’s there.

But you do. And though this man is a stranger, you cannot let him suffer, not when you can help.

You open your mouth, and with it comes one simple word: “Hello.”

I’ve been told a story I should hate what I fear

So I’ve been running since

I’m starting to lose my breath

My shoulders are getting tired

My knees are getting weak

I need to put down this burden

It’s not mine to keep

If your humanity

is essential to mine

If we became friends

Would it stand the test of time?

Different can only be dangerous

Until our hearts are involved

Then different becomes family

In the eyes of whom I love

What if we’re meant for more

Than we’re led to believe

In your eyes i see my own humanity

What if we’re meant for more than we’re lead to believe

What if we’re meant for more?

What if we’re meant for more?

What does that mean for me?

In his eyes,

I saw my past and my future.

I saw the pain he could cause me

and the pain I caused him so long ago.

Yet I stared into them patiently.

Patiently waiting for more time before them.

I saw his love for me

and my love for him

reflected in his eyes.

Sometimes I turned from them

and his eyes were confused.

But they saw me and loved me anyway.