Blue

She looks at him across the room.  Eyes lock, blue grey on blue green.  He’s quiet, still, stoned . . . but not smashed.
Its something she notices: he’s never a mess; always quiet, calm, controlled.  Never wild like the others.
Every time she’s aware of his presence.  Heavy.  Intense.  Blue green.
She could get lost in those eyes.  Especially when the poison has made their pupils shrink.
Black dots adrift in a wild sea.

Their meetings are always quick, she’s nervous, unusually so.  A polite phrase here and there.  How are you?  Nice weather.  What are you reading?
She longs to sit down with him, in peace, in quiet, ready to take in the ocean.
To take in the mess that’s inside that never escapes.  That stays locked in where she can’t fix it.

Except that time.  That time she sat quietly by and made him breathe.  That time she held his weakness so close and so near but he forgot who she was.
The poison made him forget.  Sweet and devious elixir.
That precious powder that she knows is the wall between them.  Its what brought them together but keeps them apart.
So cruel.

How she longs to share this weight.  To feel his words, his fears, his dreams.  To hold his essence in her hand and treasure it, to show him its value.  That precious gift.