Sunset Eyes

The color of the setting sun swirling in your eyes makes me feel like I'm catching a glimpse of a truly marvelous sight.

I'm probably not the only one caught under the spell your eyes cast. I know how your type operates—never committing, always wandering. One day there's her, the next someone else.

Your heart belongs to the thrill of the chase—to the high you can't reach by tying yourself down.

Like a free spirit, you move on, never looking back, living without regrets.

A trail of broken hearts follows you, shards like rose petals.

"You knew how I was from the start. I never hid that part of me, and I never gave you hope for something more," is what you say to every girl in the end.

And like every story goes, they'd cry, beg, and plead for you to stay with them and never leave. They'd beg for you to love them.

"I'm sorry," is all they'd get, the words spoken so softly, so sorrowfully.

Cruel to be kind, or kind to be cruel? I can't pick either one since I'm not sure which one would be less painful.

I wish you'd been easy to hate. I wish I could've been indifferent to you.

But beggars can't be choosers, right?

Because in the end, the joke's on us, who can't resist you and your sunset eyes.