I look at you,
as you look at me,
and in your lazy gaze,
I can almost see what I saw
when I loved to look into you.

I look at you,
and you stare back,
without any explanation
for why you no longer spare me
those thrilling glances that made me want you
to never let me out of your sight.

I look at you,
and wonder if I ever really saw you,
and whether I knew it would come to this;
that I would return again and again
to devour these pictures,
while creating a blindspot
to cover the one who you now hold
captive in your eyes.

I look at you,
to try and understand why
I am lost to you.