Scrutinized

I've always liked to observe people but somehow never really realized I am too an object of someone else's gazes.

The more I read D's journal, the more I feel that he kept watching me, with his cool blue eyes, constantly reassessing me and modifying his image of me.  (how unnerving!)

He knew my weaknesses and frailty like a railway track knows the old train whistles - he probably sensed that he couldn't trust me with his heavy load, or maybe he thought I would break. (I wouldn't have, would I?)

Now I'm haunted by his unuttered cries.