I certainly remember the first time I ever looked into your eyes. They where so bright and wide. It was the first time I was ever able to experience how people can be truly genuine and kind. I felt as if I knew you from a past life. I felt free. I felt limitless possibilities. Yet somehow, I knew that you where special. I knew that you would have a major effect on my life. I suspected that I would fall in love with you. In fact, the very same day I met you, I prayed that you would not break my heart. That I would not have to deal with the unimaginable scrutiny of heartbreak. But I kept running into you, and I knew that I liked you immediately. There was just something about you. Yet somehow, just seven months later after the internal conflict and destruction of self that I endured from loving you in vain, when I looked into your eyes I began to feel angry and betrayed. The love and possibilities I felt when I met you have turned into hatred and bitter coldness. I hate having to see you. Still, I love the subtle occasions when you and I see each other. Because then you see passion. I know you do. You see the love my soul has to offer. My love does not feel so vain anymore, and I reclaim my power and the virtuosity of my heart.