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/\ June 4, 1961 /\
/\ Saturday, 8:25 pm /\
Song: I've Just Seen A Face
By: The Beatles

I became paralyzed.
I wouldn't dare blink.

I felt my conscious rip away from body, his doe eyes gazing straight down my soul. My eyes trailed around his face, observing his dark mop of hair, along with his softer colored lips.

"Is she alright?"

I persisted to gape at him in awe, fearful that if I moved a muscle, my what seemed to be hallucination would vanish into thin air.

I felt a tight grip on my shoulder, along with fingers unmercifully plunging into my skin, garenteed to leave bruises once lifted.

I assumed it was John, considering I've felt his firm grasp before. I felt a small, sharp pain in that area, but I didn't care. All my mind could process was that I was seeing color.


I didn't snap out of my daze, not once looking away from the bloke in color. My eyes began to water, partially from not blinking, but mainly because I was announced to forever be blinded from such a simple thing in life, and after 18 years of never discerning other colors then different shades of grays, I was looking at a lad with hazel eyes.

All of a sudden I felt a warmth around me. A set of arms tenderly embraced my stiffened body, causing me to somehow relax completely. I melted into the hug, finding out it was the life changing boy who was comforting me in his arms.

It didn't feel odd. The gesture felt natural, comfortable even. He began to rub the small of my back, putting my tears at bay and soothing my out of control emotions.

"Shhhh, don't cry pretty lady."

He pulled away to my discontent, first glancing at George and John, then heeding his attention back at me.

I wanted to ramble on about how captivating the sight before me was. How it made my breath hitch. How contentment flowed through my mind that once yearned to perceive more than just different tints of gray. But, when my lips parted to speak, the only words that poured out where,

"...You're eyes...they're beautiful..."

The boy formed a very winsome, appreciative smile. He didn't have to physically thank me for the compliment, his cheeky grin was all the thanks I needed.

"Quite kind of you love."

He pinched his thumb and pointer finger above his matted hair, swiftly tilting his wrist mimicking the motion of tipping a hat, an old fashioned way of saying "thank you."
What a gentleman.

"Really they are,"

I began, peering into his benevolent, fathomless eyes.

"They're such a beautiful hue of hazel. I can't keep my eyes away from them."

This sounded like a habitual compliment to George and the bloke, but to John it was completely different. He knew when I voiced the unembellished word hazel, something was out of place.

His head struck up, a look loaded with brood smothered on his face. He signaled me to come over to him, asking the lads for a moment.

I was first reluctant about turning away, petrified that the vibrant shades would dematerialize. But, John endeavored, clutching my dainty wrist and yanking me to wherever he desired to speak. I spun my head around, reassuring myself the boy and his color filled features where still there.

And they where.

Colorblind <> Paul McCartneyWhere stories live. Discover now