it was the simple way that he stared that had me engulfed. reaching in after my empties, only to hear them clink around and fill my eyes with my own personal grade of void. but he looked. deeper and deeper. trying to thumb through my gallery of undeveloped thoughts. he searched for something tangible or tenable or familiar. it was the simple way that he cast his eyes and glued them to my mishape. it was the way he cast his eyes that left me bare.
i found myself filing and scraping for something to show. something worthy. he takes out a pen and turns his hand to the top. he scrapes with black ink, "grade A" and continues his walk down the line.
i had always wondered how the contours of his face would run. i had always tried to guess. but none of it matched now.
there is no face. or golden halo. or robes filled with riches or promises or extractions. he's just a big pair of eyes. probing for something real.