Her eyes remind me of childhood and if I stare into them I can recall the faint smell of apple crumble in falls. I can sail into depths of a past that is all too present today and venture back to the days I used to know. If I listen closely I can hear the faint laughs of children and the leaves crunch beneath their tiny feet. Her eyes remind me of the people I used to know. Her eyes make me sad.
They speak of volatile circumstances and tragic disasters. Of trains one took to travel far, far away to hustling cities where the cacophony of car horns blur tumultuous thoughts. They know of misunderstandings and unproductive visits to the therapist. They know too much. Sometimes I wonder when I gaze into them whether she realizes how alike we are. All the stories she has learnt to confide in me with words were spelled out in articulate words from her eyes. Sometimes when I stare into them I see not only her thoughts but my own. I see my own reflection as a true image of what it is, Instead of the charade I put up. I see myself as I truly am, not a monster or a sinner or an angel or a disaster. I see myself as a human-or that’s how she sees me. Maybe that’s why I love her eyes so much. Maybe that’s why I love her so much