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Opia.

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Opia: the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.


“Were your eyes always blue?” I ask.

 

You turn your head for a moment, I already feel it slipping away, to look at me.

 

“Yes,” you say, “I suppose they were.”

 

I nod, another question forming desperately on the tip of my tongue.

 

Please don't let this fade away.

 

You turn towards the window again.

 

The ache in my chest is dull and so, so prominent. It hurts.

 

Can you feel it, too?

 

It's quiet. I'm not accustomed to quiet. Things have never been quiet. Not between us. Never between us.

 

It's so quiet.

 

“Your eyes are still green.”

 

Your voice is thin. Tired. Small.

 

Where have you gone?

 

“Yes,” I respond, "they are."

 

I don't know what to say after that. Neither of us do. There's so much space. Why is there so much space?

 

“I miss you.” More than you know.

 

You swallow. You don't say anything.

 

Please say something.

 

“I don't remember your eyes being blue.”

 

I try to fill the silence. The silence that is consuming me. The silence that is made up with entire universes of grief and pain and don't let go’s.

 

Your breathing is shallow.

 

I wonder if I can still take your breath away.

 

The bus screeches to a halt.

 

You turn to me once more. You look pained.

 

Please don't go.

 

“It was nice catching up with you,” you murmur, quickly stuffing your books into your bag. Your eyes, your blue eyes, are brimming with emotion. 

 

You were the most intriguing, beautiful novel I've ever read.

 

You still won't meet my gaze.

 

I don't want to be finished with it yet.

 

Before you have the chance to get up, I grab your hand.

 

You try to pull away.

 

I won't let you.

 

I feel whole. 

 

Don't let go.

 

“Your eyes are blue. They're blue, not brown. Like I thought they were.”

 

You finally look at me. You look through me.

 

Have I always been so transparent?

 

“I'm sorry I didn't pay attention to them when I had the chance.”

 

You smile sadly. You smile in finalty.

 

Your smile is so pretty.

 

You're so pretty.

 

You open your mouth to speak.

 

But then you don't. You shut your eyes, instead.

 

You shut them.

 

And you walk away.

 

All I can see is the back of your jacket. The jacket that you wore on our first date. And every date after that.

 

Your eyes are blue.

 

I'll remember this time, I promise.

 

 

 

 


 






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