The Rover

The rover, that is how I will remember him. The world savvy, tough guy with the dark locks and those pale, innocent eyes.

I was drawn to him the moment I first met his gaze. Many late nights we spent together, drawing in closer, closing the gap.

I remember the first touch of his metal lips. Soft and hesitant as he attempted to kiss away the tears in my eyes.

His laughter and tales of far off places echo in the caverns of my mind.

That night on the rented bed was the last time he let me in. He had opened up too much for his liking. In those early morning hours I read him like the open book he'd become to me.

The rough, ragged man was no more; in his place the wounded boy appeared. The boy that painted the sky purple.

He was not roaming freely. He was running away. Unable to deal with the guilt he has heavily carried for ten years.

A silent tear ran across his cheek as I described the colour of his eyes to him.

A heart of green surrounded by waves of the clearest blue. Eyes mirroring the land he called home.

Perhaps it reminded him too much of the sorrows he spends most of his waking hours drowning away. Or I frightened him because I saw him clearer than he would allow himself to see.

It matters not, for he did the only thing he knows... He ran.