He sits across the room. For now he seems thoroughly engrossed in whatever is on his laptop, but I could have sworn that his head was once tilted towards me only a second ago. As if he started staring and then just started spacing out. Though his friend had just said something to me, I am 99.9% positive that his gaze was not because of his friends sudden interest in me and was because of some other reason that I cannot name. I know he’s heard me say that I don’t like him before, and it’s not because I know him, because I must not truly know him for he stares. I think it’s just that I don’t enjoy his look. When he looks at me I feel as if all of my troubles come crashing back on me. As if I’ll never be happy again, and it is for that reason I do not like him, yet he stares. His eyelashes are so long that I’m surprised they don’t become tangled up when he blinks. For a reason I do not know, for a reason I’m not sure I would like to know he stares.