A thousand needles painted you in black.
There you were, dressed like night – but living in the grey.
You stood tall, masked in the light of day. Hidden. Completely.
Fragile eyes – your only revelation.
I wonder who hides beneath. Who owns those eyes? Who closes them at night? Are you adorned in colour? What do you hope? What do you dream?
And I wanted to speak with you. But I could not find your mouth. If you had a voice, it was silent.
You were mystery, defined. Fascinating to me because of what I could not see, could not hear, and could not know. Less, was more.
And I remember the moment you looked at me. It was fleeting. But with your eyes, you let me in. You peeled back the layers in simple seconds. And although I couldn’t explain, and you said nothing, I saw everything.
I saw tears and laughter and happiness. I saw fear and hope and sadness.
And in that moment, I knew we were the same. So very different, but so very much the same.
If you smiled beneath those gentle folds of fabric, I did not see. But your eyes spoke silently and in my mind I painted a picture with a thousand needles, in black.
You walked on. I walked on. You looked back. I looked back.
The same road/ different directions…