Why So Serious?
All around you is a darkness. It seeps from your essence, haloing you in shadow that is both inviting and threatening. All around you is laughter. The high shrill of the petite blonde in the corner rings like a bell, echoing in my ear. The haughty guffaws of the large man warms the room like the embers of a familiar fire. From you, there is only silence. Luscious lips laced with sweet wine and red lipsticks curl upwards, as though marionette strings were pulling the corners high and wide, white teeth sparkling in the dimly lit room. There is ecstasy in their smiles. There was no ecstasy in your face. Nothing about your demeanor would have suggested that you were having a good time, that the social appetites were present in everyone except you. I believed you were the pessimistic outlier. And then I saw your eyes. Your eyes, such dark, endless abysses resting deeply in your brooding face, reflecting all and revealing nothing. Your eyes, sharp daggers that took in all, seemed to chew over every bit of information with no response. Your eyes, beckoning fingers of temptation, calling forth to the possibility of recklessness and danger. You could have been a statue but for those eyes. So there I sat, drink in hand, the condensation dripping down my wrist as my mind mulled confusedly over the mystery of you. Why were you here? Why were you unhappy? Why were your eyes betraying you? Why so serious?