it could've been a trick of light. your eyes always lie, and not a flicker of what you think shows. they are as opaque as windows on a winter morning- frosted and always sullen. i wish you'd stop speaking to me in riddles, because my puny mind can't seem to decipher. your words are thick as syrup, sweet but lacking clarity. nourish me, not with sweet lies, instead with the purest, untainted, unclouded truth.