Its always in the eyes...

We had spoken; books and books...
Written poetries,
Complimented, commented and complained,
Through glances, stares and looks,
Not a word spoken,
But eyes living a life of its own,
Mind painting a canvas of its own,
Heart playing a melody of its own,
And vibes conversing in a language of its own,
Why did we speak?
And kill a love so beautiful, that was...
Meandering in our eyes,
In our side stares,
In the tip of our smile,
In the steps counted on our pedometer...
Why did we speak?
And kill those moments in which we lived...