That stare he uses.
That stare they all use.
Who?
They. The boys.
What boys?
All boys. The boys I know. The boys I’ve seen. Why do they do this?
Do what?
Stare. Stare at me with those daunting eyes. Those eyes that linger for just a second too long. Those eyes that tell me so much more than what their mouths are saying. Those eyes that…
What’s wrong with that?
Everything, Ignorance. Everything is wrong with that. Don’t you see?
No.
Then come look. Open your eyes for once. See them taunting you, craving you, telling you the secrets you’ve wanted to know, whether you’ve asked to hear them or not. See, my friend, the eyes are the gateway to the heart for these creatures. They are relied on to express what has been held back, what the lips will not permit to speak. And the longer the lips hold back, the stronger the eyes grow.
Do you understand now?
No.
See, the stronger the eyes become, the harder it is to resist.
Resist what?
You truly are your given name, I see. As once said, open your eyes! Can you see them pulling you into the pit of temptation? Confusion lingering in the question, “Is it love?” Only to bring you to a fork that splits down two paths, one of heavenly well-fed desires and one of deep despair? It usually coursing you down the second path?
Excuse my frustration, but do you see now?
No. For I apologize, Suspicion, but no. And never will I. Although Ignorance has been a given name to me, I often go by another. One that often means much more to the falling, to the hurting, to the calling, to the caring. I prefer to go by that name, if you will. And, whether you know this or not, you are my enemy. I can only doubt your ways, Suspicion. Those stabbing eyes are only welcoming in my perspective. Those eyes help me understand the aching, the hurting, the falling. Nothing else could explain the depth of these beautiful creatures as well as those stabbing eyes. Those stabbing eyes that express what the lips will not permit to speak. Those taunting and craving and secret telling eyes. Those gateways into the heart.
So, if you will, refer to me not by my given name, but by my chosen name.
Call me Love, Suspicion.
Call me Love.
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Desiree Brown has been writing ever since she was able to. She enjoys writing song lyrics, poetry, scripts, and has started writing several romantic novels. Homeschooled for grades K-12, Desiree is now attending as a junior at Central Piedmont Community College in Charlotte, NC at age seventeen. She continues to work toward her major in Journalism and minor in Creative Writing as she attends English and American Literature classes at Central Piedmont and will be attending the University of North Carolina in the fall of 2015. Desiree has also attended the Young Writer’s Institute at Hagerstown Community College and has been working toward her poetry book, “Roses Are Read,” that will be published in the spring of 2015.