Hungry Eyes…

I once told a girl 
That you can tell someone’s ill-intent through their eyes

But a recent encounter had me rethink this…

This encounter was different 
He had the face of someone familiar 
With the voice of someone new
And eyes of someone who knew 
What destruction tasted like

Those eyes. 
Those are the kind that I told the girl about

The kind that are drawn to you like moths to a flame. 
The kind that don’t even bother to hide that they will do Anything to get their hands on you. 
To remember what it's like to feel something. 
Seeking to hold the fire within you and slowly snuff it out completely 
By misusing the stronghold of an embrace 

All for the feeling of light. 
Warmth against them briefly, while recreating the last feeling they've ever known. 
Destruction. Devastation. Ruin.
But this time, for you. 

The man I met today, 
He had those eyes 
But seemed to have no intent to feast
…on me, my light.

It was odd. 
So controlled. 
Like his demons were on a tight leash. 
Close enough for me to see the Beast in his eyes, 
But far enough for him not to identify with them.

Close enough for him to acknowledge them
But far enough to be willing to starve them
In the face of the light, the feast, they “needed”. 

Maybe he could feel that the fire he was clearly seeking resided within himself. 

I’ve never seen something so…
Conflicted? Balanced? 
So human. 

Love brought him to me for this. 

He was on the precipice of something. 
Discovery of Light 
OR the recycling of Destruction. 

And he was choosing discovery so far. 

Perhaps he had doubts, perhaps the demons were clouding his vision…
His considerations…
His thoughts. 

But Love still lived in his body. 
Actively. 
Love lived in his Speech. 
In his care for others. 

Love even lived in his sacrifice. 
His “starvation”

The only hunger he was willing to feed,
I deduced, by the end of our conversation…
Was the kind that transformed him completely. 

The kind that fed him internally
The kind that fed him from within

Maybe we met because he saw my light 
From my fire & desired to have one just as brilliant on his own. 
Maybe he knew that with help he’d get there. 
And maybe that’s why I only gave him a stick  

“Write” I said. 

To stoke the fire within that desires 
To burn fiercely. 

I think if I saw him again
I’d tell him: “Oxygen helps fires too.”

“So when your light gets a bit brighter, 
And you'll know because you’ll see your demons more clearly,

Thank it out loud.
Praise it out loud. 
Encourage it out loud. 

Remind yourself of the work you're doing, 
The restraint you’re using,
The discipline you’re building,
To bring yourself warmth from the inside out.

Breathe life into that fire,
At its core  

Remember why you desire light at all. 
& if that stumps you…try looking back to a time you were your brightest.”

Hint: you were probably 6 :)