he lived in her face, or so it seemed. his moods, whether warm, frightened, or furious seemed to be screened in her young features. today, while looking at her, i could tell that he was angry. it showed in the tightness of her jaw, the shadow in her blue eyes, and the shimmer on her eyes' pink rims. she was constantly in a battle to win back the strings to her own face, reaching for one string in public, trying to draw the corners of her mouth upward, toward all things good, the sky, angels. but he always held the strings. today he felt like tilting them to the left, and she was dragged along, not able to show her frusteration as the strings slipped completely out of her hands.