His eyes looked like someone caught
mid-confession—
not loud, not shaking,
just still,
like the moment right before a dam gives.

He didn’t say much.
Didn’t have to.
There was something in the way
he looked past people
instead of at them.
Like he knew too much
and didn’t want to see
what it would cost
to say any of it out loud.

You could see it
when he sat still too long—
his jaw tight,
his stare fixed on nothing
like it was holding him in place.
Like if he moved,
it would all spill out.

Whatever he did,
whatever he lost—
it was there.
In his eyes.
Not romantic. Not tragic.
Just honest in a way
that made you want to look away.