He looks too much. He can’t see much more. He knows how much less than that makes him unsure. He knows she knows. He feels beyond sure. He knows that when he’s closed his eyes that he’s still sore. He feels his own sort of pain. He feels it’s still the same. Again. He never wants that to ever change. Again.
She said he never really looks at me. Although there’s nothing ever that he’d ever rather see. Given every opportunity. He knows she’ll still be me. Properly.