The last time I looked into your eyes they were dead cold as I never thought they could be. They didn't even seem yours: the deep blue turned storm gray, melancholic and conscient of their superiority. They were the sky I ever saw in them, but stormy and raging. And I was just a forsaken of the skies, another pariah left to wander without goal.
The storm vanished, but the blue sky didn't come. I looked into your eyes again. They are not dead cold anymore. But they are not the mirage I dreamt for so long. They are not cold nor warm. They are dead, filled with an infinite sadness that wants to cry so hard but cannot do it. I don't know what happened to you, or who could cause you such a harm. But I recognize your sorrow. I saw it for sometime, everytime I stared at myself in the mirror.
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