she was in love with the skin around his eyes.
does that sound strange? it wasn't. it was the most natural thing in the world.
in love with its perfect fragility. its paper-thin translucence.
evidence of something deeply felt and known. evidence of an entire life.
but lying side by side on the floor of the dimly lit living room she looked at that area just around his eyes and wondered if there was not too much life before her--too much life before this moment. a life so full there was just no room.
in the days and weeks and months and years following his disappearance, following the slow withdrawl of his presence, she studied the eyes of many a man she passed. on the street. in a movie theatre. sitting in restaurants. she would get herself into trouble by looking for too long at strangers on the train.
she was fine.
really okay.
but every once in a while she would look up and catch a glimpse of him in a stranger. see those same careless lines leaning in. leading up and around. providing some kind of indiscernible road map.
and it was that that she missed.
that which would undo her.