rush yourself rusha russia

his eyes are unfamiliar to me. i know his skin and his smell, i know his touch and the way his hair moves when he laughs. i know his lips and his jaw, and the complex shape of his knee. but i don't know and neither can i begin to understand his eyes... he doesn't let me look into them, says that eye contact with me is too jarring, too full of honesty and some form of hurt. i didn't understand that either.






i feel myself growing quiet, wondering if, perhaps, such silence will be transferred to lull the constant voices inside my head. maybe that's wishful thinking, but i don't know what else to do