He looked at her the way a painter would step back to take in his painting,
full of admiration and content.
And although he couldn\'t tell whether this sentiment was reciprocated,
he couldn\'t help himself from drowning in her.
It was as if he, fully knowing that he couldn\'t swim,
threw himself into the deep end and was then silently shocked by the inevitable outcome.
He, knowing full well that it was near impossible,
made it his mission to make friends with chaos.
She wasn\'t one to wear a heart on her sleeve.
Time and time again he\'d ask for her to show how she felt towards him
(or anything for that matter)
just so he could understand her a little more,
but with an absence of empathy she\'d say \'You\'re wasting your time\'.
She seemed to frequently grow tired of his
\'foolish games\' and \'wayward ways\'
unable to understand him.
And when she looked at him she felt the cornerstone of emptiness and boredom.