.his phenomenal eyes.
written for you
I sat alone on a small, uncomfortable stool, my eyes glued to the stage on the other side of the room, where a boy with semi-long blond hair that fell before his eyes sat on a stool identical to mine, and everyone else's in the club. His green eyes were cast downwards, towards the guitar held on his knee. One foot rested against the leg of the stool, while the other was left dangling near the floor of the stage.
I watched as he moved his fingers to get the right key on the guitar, then he lightly strummed his fingertips along the strings, as if testing the sound. He cleared his throat, then looked up, licking his dry lips. He shook his head curtly, hardly even moving it at all, to clear wisps of blond hair that tickled his forehead. His green eyes were piercing, yet dull. So passionless and wounded. He had been through so much, I could tell just by his eyes. And his posture. Slightly slumped; broken. Unfeasible.
He cleared his throat again to get the crowds attention. They all looked at him in interest, while some just looked drunk out of their minds. Most, however, were alert and watching him with intent gazes. If I had been him, I would have been nervous as hell. But maybe he was. Maybe he just didn't show it.
If he was nervous, he was excellent at hiding it under that mask of emotionless weariness. I could detect a confident aura around him, yet he did not look confident in the least. He looked tired; upset almost.
He had beautiful eyes, though. So captivating; so wounded. I was drawn to them and couldn't look away from those enchanting orbs that cut through the crowd. It almost looked as if he hated the people before him, his eyes was so bitter as he gazed at them. As he scanned through the crowd, his eyes fell on mine, and he hesitated, then continued to eye the crowd down.
"I assume I'm supposed to tell you my name," the boy spoke in a dry, husky voice that made my spine tingle.