His anguish is obvious. 
He lies on the couch and I can see he is torn.

Two choices ahead; and only one clear answer. 

The right one, the obvious one.
His eyes are full of pain and conflict, as if no good can come from anything. 

Until our eyes meet.
   He puts on a smile to hide the fact that we know we're both on borrowed time. 
He holds the obvious choice, the one he made long ago, in his hands. 

And yet, here he stays, watching me so intensely I can see him over the edge of my pages.

I feel his stare burning into me. As he jokes about the 'Modern Day Mona Lisa' he believes I'm creating. I pour out feelings he can never see.