I know eyes. I always remember the colors. Despite how much I love a person or the pure indifference, eyes are mesmerized in my mind. Burned in my memory. The flecks of yellow or the aura-like glow around the iris.
I wondered what color eyes you have. I should have known. I love brown. I love dark eyes that remind me of train tunnels that later turn to tunnels of live and spark with life. But your brown eyes are just like mine. Warm brown. Warm like rich earth that is so ancient and rich just a sprinkle of this dirt can grow any plant.
Looking into your face is half like a mystery and half like a mirror. Your heavy lidded eyebrows match mine. Looking at my own reflection's hidden eyes always made me slightly sad. That I won't have large beautiful eyes like a doe eyes darling. But looking at your hooded eyes they half sleepy kindness draws me in and wraps me closer to you.
Your eyes are guarded by lines that crinkle when your face dances through every expression. The happy laughing crinkles compliment the glow of your eyes. The desperation of agony seems pleading by the life that is stamped around your eyes.
When you speak of travel and liberty and comfort those eyes draw me in like an invitation. The smell of fresh bread or a warm grassy knoll encompassed by a perfect spring day and clouds perfect for cloud gazing and story sharing.
It's too much to think about. Your lovely eyes. The only eyes I want to memorize.
I had once been distracted by a blue eyes that were oceans after a storm. Eyes that never weathered squalls. That never wanted to look up from the binds that tied him down. Never looked up from captivity. These eyes were pretty but half dead.
Your eyes are charged. Alive. They are always bright like flames in a fire.
YOU ARE READING
Listen to the Casual Reply: A Collection of Short stories
RomanceA collection of stories of what was love, what might have been, what still could be
