The way he looked at things made it seem like he was seeing everything all at once. Every impossible detail would come alive under his gaze. He could look into a barista's eyes, and seem to know everything about them. I could only watch in amazement as he picked out parts of their lives even when they themselves often pretended it did not exist. It was when his eyes shifted to me that I grew uncomfortable. He never once said a word, but I always wondered what he saw.
Did he see your fingertips grip my skin, and leave nothing but bruises in their wake? Did he see the invisible cracks my father had given me as he left with a slamming door? Did he see the brokenness in my smile, or the way that I moved like I was always trying to get away from an invisible ghost?
He never said a word about anything he may have seen, just smiled at me like he was silently giving me a shoulder to cry on. I never did reach out and cling to him like maybe he thought I would, and looking back I wonder what would have happened if I had.
YOU ARE READING
Stories That Never Get Told
General FictionThese are the stories of the things that have been, could have been, and should have been. They needed their voices to be heard, and I'm doing the best I can to give them that.
