The power of eyes.

We eat with them.

Ear with them.

Think with them.

Fuck with them.

Such power in intense eye contact.

We can say so much,

by just looking at another pair of eyes.

I’m looking at you right now,

from across this bar,

and you’ll never know what I’m thinking about.

Most of the times, I’m just thinking :

I could probably go talk to you.

Be kind and provocative.

Tell you I like your earrings.

Pretend to be interested in your thoughts.

Just to get in your panties,

and then call you a bitch,

when telling my friends about it. 

Unfortunately,

My heart is a warm place,

and I could never break yours.

I lose, again.

On the other hand,

Am I really losing ?

The thing is,

just by looking at you for 2 seconds,

I just know you don’t like old movies.

You wouldn’t understand my music.

You don’t want to change and tease minds for a living.

You wouldn’t want to have dinner in cheap places.

You don’t want to look different.

You probably care too much about what people think.

I bet you watch the same tv shows that everybody watches,

and british royal marriages, live on tv.

You would talk to me about what you are studying,

which isn’t really your passion.

Not even close. 

You would tell me about that book you read once that,

deep down,

didn’t mean shit to you.

You would tell me about that boring helthy restaurant you went

the week before,

and how much avocado and water with lemon you shoved down your throat.

Trying to make me believe,

that inside your body,

there’s only spring, not a day of winter.

You would tell me about your fake dreams. 

You would tell me how spotaneous you are.

That you want to travel the world.

That you are an activist for the minorities.

(What would the world be without you ?)

That you started yoga or meditation,

whatever is trendy,

and that you really feel in touch with yourself now. 

You would tell me you are crazier than you really are.

You would vomit every information you saw on the news the day

before.

Word for word.

What a bright young lady.

Bullshit.

Bullshit.

Bullshit.

Maybe you would be wearing a Pink Floyd or a Tupac t-shirt,

without knowing a fucking song.

So disrespectful. 

I already know you.

So why would I come over and introduce myself ? 

I’m still looking at you though… 

Oh you are hot as fuck,

don’t get me wrong,

but I already know everything about you. 

We could have a glorious night.

Without words.

Fucking each other’s brains off.

Going to Jupiter’s moons and back.

Waking up the streets.

Biting lips.

Feeling each othre’s bare skin,

and sleep, holding our nightmares,

peacefully.

But we have to talk first.

Why does it work that way ?

Guess I’m sleeping alone today, agaian.

But I prefer loneliness,

than lying and being bored to death.

So, to you,

pretty girl that I’m staring at,

with the lioness eyes,

while I inhale a third lucky strike,

in this crowded bar,

just know that you look stunning tonight.

Shiny hair and legs for days.

I almost could fall in love with you.

Almost. 

But don’t worry.

I won’t break your heart.

I wont touch you.

I won’t be another asshole in your life.

I won’t be your average Joe boyfriend,

who cares too much about cars and sports.

That touches you the wrong way.

That won’t look at you the same when you turn 40.

That cheats on you with some faceless pair of tits.

The type of guy that lives for the weekends,

When he drinks beer with his equally lame friends,

and reffers to you as ” his boss”.

That tells boring stories and jokes that make flies kill

themselves.

Makes me sick to my stomach.

Poor girl.

Such a sad destiny.

So I limit myself,

to be this fantasy in your head,

while you look at me back. 

For a split second,

when we cross eyes,

you may think of me as your man, someday.

Of having dates and double dates with your dull friends.

Of making you cum in a bed made of roses.

Of meeting your parents,

wearing a blue shirt and beige pants.

But it would be just that.

A fantasy.

Only drunk would I fuck a girl that isn’t true to herself.

Alcohol makes your empty soul look bareable to me,

somehow. 

We stared at each other a few times by now.

Finished the lucky.

My move. 

Am I drunk or sober ?

Gues we’ll find out pretty soon.