Dressed to the nines

He looks tired, and I know that it might be the late hour, or maybe it's the way the camera was tilted, or maybe something else. But he's tired, and I can see it across his face and in his eyes and down the creases in his vest. He's dressed to the nines. Maybe on top. But he's in jeans, still, and it's only comfortable to realize that jeans are comforting. A reminder? A problem.

Because his eyes are still dark, and they look at me from the screen the way I think they'd look in real life if I could remember, because all those memories slip away from me, too far for me to catch. They're leaving me behind like so much waste. And there's nothing, not a damn thing, I can do about it.

I'd catch up with the world if I could, but I can't, because I'm being held back by eyes that are too dark, and the fallen one who holds them. I think we had this conversation before - fallen angel sounds too pretty... But I guess angel is the right word. And fallen is the modifier that fits. Fallen from grace, if there ever was grace. A touch of grace, of goodwill.

Or maybe there was never space to fall.

I don't know.

I just don't know.

I just know it hurts, to look into your eyes and realize that I'll always lose staring contests with you, when you're only a static image on a screen.