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Two magnets colliding, the strength like an invisible cord appending the two of you; seventeen years worth of duos of seeings magnetically impressing quarry; a few moments frozen in time; the body goes into a condition of alarm; but for an instant you don’t greeting, for you experience that time time between you and someone else .

Some stares are jagged, color, and impart something deeper than just seeings accumulating. You question every move you’ve ever moved, like a chess board, with each section a momentous segment of the game. You cannot deplore the move you’ve established, however, because, you cannot go in reverse. Stares are manuscript encompass; not causing all information, but leaving you wondering enough about what ulterior motives live in it.

And then there is that look, the stare of everything kept concealed inside together; hitherto from great distances bellowed the resonate of a gondola crash, where nothing is left to preserve . That gaze braces a justly emotion unexplainable, yet so memorable. The method it stumbles my form as it does often as I stray the proximity. It’s a typhoon, so commanding to hammer me down like an unsullied plucked peg to an oxidized plank, breathtaking, and unavoidable. It’s more than see gape, which is something that a stare merely is, but an amalgamation of that and organization lingo.

Hands perpendicularly lying on the contrary surfaces of their own bodies, standing upright, against the wall, unperturbed, from lower figure, upper figure, until the eyes, that’s where it is dissimilar.

My mother’s stare is not like it, for hers is too cherishing and lackadaisical as she helps others while standing the working day. My father’s is at ease, working at home; stare entirely attached to the computer for hours. My friends’ looks are bipolar, depending on their mood. Sometimes content, sometimes happy, sometimes embarrassed all parallel to their postures, sitting at tables slaves to rule. Not one soul who has ever registered “peoples lives” has given me that same feeling inside; no one has ever surpassed or repeated the unsaid terms attached to the stare; the posture, the look, the person an ambiguity.

Is it an allusion of delight or distaste I expect? Should it be disdained for the villainy of reliving the past? Cerebral and my awareness in judgment, but at what expenditure; for this look is divine .

It shall be my resolving year of this stare, like the magnets untwine times will transcend by. This gaze is blood-curdling and leaves me gone astray; however, I’m not prepared to let go of it, for it is the final epoch I see that stare ever again.

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