don’t judge a book by it -or- the trouble with picking up people in bars

Written by

there’s mystery there

hiding behind those eyes

locked up tighter than anything else in here…

i watch them dance

those eyes of yours

watch your face burst into sunshine when you laugh

and I wonder what goes on in that head

when you finally pull your hair down at night…

does your smile hide the way you feel inside

or is it witness to a contentment

that lies deeper than the surface?

i sit on the outside

left to wonder

searching for clues when your guard is down

trying to read your face;

wondering where the joy in your voice comes from

but its only speculation

and at best

make believe

because i cannot read the book that is your life

I can only glance the cover:

a quick summary that makes you seem interesting

but leaves far too much to the imagination

and I still don’t know if your story

is a comedy

or a tragedy

and perhaps I wonder most of all if even you know what it is yourself

or if you lie awake at night

wondering

why that last chapter had to end like it did

and what the next chapter holds.