Symphonies.

              A pair of glassy eyes bore into mine. They tried to read and analyse each expression on my face, each blink of my eye. The person they belonged to was reckless and a skeptic. He was a dreamer. Bloody executioner. Cavalier attitude. He seemed to relish his fame in the shadows. He acted like he didn't belong in this world. But I thought different. He belonged in two different worlds. I could never tell whether his thoughts were true. But how could I? I didn't know if mine were, either. I was reckless too, and the biggest skeptic I'd ever known. Maybe that's why we were facing each other at this very moment. He was so sharp, and his presence was always felt. But you could never reach out to him. Like when you tried to reach out to the warm summer breeze of the new season. Each time you thought you caught it, it just slipped past the space between your fingers. He rested at the horizon. And with each second that clocked past, he grew more distant. I stood there, unable to tell whether I loved him. I did. Wait, did I? The pitch-riot in my head scathed past like a painful memory. 

And so I gave into those stone-cold eyes, uncertain of the future as I placed my lips on his.

              While I stared into her soul, I tried to keep my eyes as glassy as I could. Each expression on her face, each blink of her eye brought along with it a wave of uncertainty. And along with it came dismay. She was bold. And sharp. Reticent demeanor. Her mind was a thumping paradox, her thoughts as divine as they come. She seemed to wallow in her shell, looking to see if anyone was looking. Very few were the things she attached herself to, almost all being completely harmless. I could never tell whether her thoughts were true. But mine seemed to be. Or did they? Even though she inflicted a radiant aura, I always struggled to find her presence in my surroundings, but in vain. Like when you try to find the faint moonlight on a lifeless night. You know it's there, dimming the darkness a bit. But each time you think you see it, it just races past your eyes and vanishes into the cold air. It never seemed like treachery is something she basked in, but then again, it never seemed like she basked in anything at all. I stood there, unable to tell whether I loved her. I did. Did I? A painful memory scathed past in my head and started a pitch-riot.

And so I gave into those befuddled eyes, hoping that her heart didn't belong to another man.