I always found it tiresome when you cried. Eventually I realized that you could tell by the way that I held you, from behind, shh-ing and rocking you back and forth. Sometimes I would wipe your tears because they annoyed me. Your emotions are so sloppy.
When you would turn around and look at me, eyebrows raised and shaking, you were no longer asking me why x horrible event happened to y innocent person, but did I give a damn? I would nod and pull your head into me again, unable to look you in the eye.
/
Seven months ago we were walking along Lake Michigan in the sideways autumn sun and you looked up at me, asking some stupid question, in love with the world and with me. The sun angled into your iris and cut through the darkness. They were burning brown. I don't remember the words we said, only that I thought you didn't deserve me. I did not know the color of your eyes. I could not stand them.
