I know that I should look people in the eyes more often, but something scares me. Sometimes, people are honest there, behind those colored irises, but most people lie, most people have something to hide. I’m no different really, I hide things too. I bite off lies with a smile. I grit my teeth and tell people what they want to hear from me, but I just can’t make eye contact. I look at my feet, toeing the frayed ends of my jeans. But I can tell the boy in front of me doesn’t do that. His jeans are fresh and clean ending just above the grooves of the escalator step. He shifts his weight and puts a gentle hand on the scratched black rail. My frayed ends tell the story of who I am. I know that I should talk to him, let him know what I think. I know that I should look in his eyes just once and tell him the truth rather than follow him day after day, looking at his heels, watching his ascent.