Oct 18, 2001
by BlackRose
A study in contradictions. Hot. Cold. Aloof. Teasing. Here... and then not. Like the will-o-the-wisp, he dances just out of reach, forever beckoning but never close enough to grasp.
Perhaps I just don't have the courage to reach out and touch.
His eyes laugh even when he makes no sound. There is nothing innocent or joyful in his laughter, though. It is cool and sometimes mocking, always amused. The world is a theater play and he the audience, waiting to be entertained.
He laughs often at me but I have learned to ignore the sting of it.
His silences speak just as much as his words, and just as sharply. I thought I knew silence before I met him. Now, I know so many more shades of it then I knew before.
My dreams are of a silence filled with the soft rasp of steel against steel.
