deepundergroundpoetry.com
The boy with the brown eyes
He carried a kind of sadness in his eyes.
The type that spoke a million words without ever daring to make a sound.
They reminded me that one thing is always certain in life.
It's that familiar sting, the endless burning from withheld tears.
The emptiness we sometimes feel between seasons.
Lonesome and scared, but filled with beautiful, earthy magic.
And though every single blink made me want to learn more, people aren't books.
And I didn't have a degree in making him crave my love.
Even when his eyes were begging for it.
The type that spoke a million words without ever daring to make a sound.
They reminded me that one thing is always certain in life.
It's that familiar sting, the endless burning from withheld tears.
The emptiness we sometimes feel between seasons.
Lonesome and scared, but filled with beautiful, earthy magic.
And though every single blink made me want to learn more, people aren't books.
And I didn't have a degree in making him crave my love.
Even when his eyes were begging for it.
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