His eyes speak the words that his lips cannot.
His silence suits me. He is used to silence; he cannot expect very much more from me.
But his eyes... Like two distant stars. Bright, twinkling, and hopeful. Great orbs of fire, both; blazing and consuming, with passion and desire that make me feel... Worthy.
He looks at me like I am the world; the moon and the stars and the sun; the whole universe at once. And I want to scream, to tell him that no one can be worth that much, that life is never that kind.
But instead, like him, I am silent, and we watch the seahorses. I watch him, as he watches them, awe and wonder written on his face like the words scrawled on the pages of his letters (but so much clearer); and I think, maybe, just this once, life can be kind and good. And I pray, though I am not a praying man, that those eyes, as deep as the seas he dreams of, never lose the hope and light that they hold today.