Oxymoronic Glares

Reading my book I can feel something, something piercingly soft, judging yet sympathetic, hated enough that it's longed for. Out of the corner of my eye I see two big blue spots, faded by the thick glass.

It came as a surprise because lately I haven't seen them; ever since those new glossy brown ones came along, my treasured blue spots have appeared less and less.

The days continue and as they do i realize that those blue spots have all but disappeared, as have the glossy brown ones. "where have they gone?" i sometimes wonder to myself.

Shakespeare, Dickens, Chaucer, slowly all pass. My reading is done, and so are those vainly humble stares. Years have passed now, and as I'm reading my book i look up to feel something so familiar it's never been felt before.

Glancing out of the corner of my eye i see them softly piercing me, while sympathetically judging . Longed for so much that they're hated. there across the room, the blue spots sparkle. This time with the rays if sun as an ally not an enemy.

Brighter than the morning sky i see your beautiful eyes looking at me again, as if to say "she's gone, but you never were."