Eyes afire

His gait reminded her of the swaying of weeping willow branches, flowing in some unseen breeze, thin but full of a confidence only the comfort of long limbs and old roots can grow over time.

Sun kissed soft skin and deep ocean eyes, but a fire burnt on angry memories of bridges barely survived hid within.

Vocal chords played both lows and highs, whispers and woes, rarely voluminous, yet always with a wisdom seeming to just know.

And she believed him. In everything, she believed. She believed in him. In everything, she did believe. Except that he could lay his past down at hardened feet, to let it go, to allow her to tread beyond its scars, it’s waging’s and wars, so he might walk beside her, ever forward, hand in hand.

He believed her. In everything, he believed. Except that she could believe in him, love him, to trust her with a future beyond his past, and that he could walk beside her, not behind.

So they danced without dancing, for he never would dance, despite his grace in length and form and art. He danced a dance only she could see, only she could hear, only she could sing along to, if only he would allow it; the dance of a tomorrow never feigned, untrusted and unkind, it’s rhythm always in rewind, chaotic in his mind, his blind sweet blue eyes, always on fire.

For even the deepest ocean will burn,
if fed enough fuel.