A Thousand Faces and One

I'm a good guesser.

I guess what people are feeling and what they mean and I'm always right.

Except, I don't ever say anything.

You wouldn't know it, but I'm a good guesser.

I knew that when you were angry and wouldn't let people do what they wanted, it wasn't just because you'd had a bad day.  You'd had a bad several years.

I knew that when you left for the not last time, you weren't weak.  You were craving and you still are.

I knew that when he asked you a normal question and you said you wouldn't answer, you were remembering every feeling you'd ever had at one moment and the force was enough to take you out of this world.

I knew that when you got upset, it wasn't a random heart string because you knew exactly which one was pulled.

Just as I know that the strings being tugged in my own heart have stretched and collapsed so many times, I stopped keeping count.

My heart is tired and I am tired and I am a good guesser, but you wouldn't know it.

Because I see the way you hide your face, thinking that no one actually knows.  

I see the way you cry, not for forgiveness, but for your own stupidity.  

I see the way you look at him and feel disgusted and not just by the scars he holds.

I see the way you roll your eyes, like, superficial, but it's actually seven fathoms deep.

Because I have known these things and maybe not at your longevity, but enough to taste the bitter that comes with it and enough to know that I'm a good guesser.