They will stare. They will stand to the side and watch her be alone.

It's like, when someone asks you how you are and even though you want to say that you feel like shit, that you're miserable, that you cry until you gag and spend most of your time imagining ways to kill yourself, instead you just say, 'Fine, thanks.

And in that foggy place between sleep and waking, he could have been anyone. That was what she liked most about him: In the darkness, he became whomever she wanted.

I noticed that once you realize
someone's watching you it's pretty hard not to find yourself
watching them back.

He stared at her the way folks stare at a rainbow, taking in all that unexpected beauty, not wanting to look away in case it might disappear.

I may tell all my bones: they look and stare upon me.