His Beautiful Eyes

He had beautiful eyes.

Pretty eyes is what she called them. She loved to tease him about his pretty eyes. He would look ten times better in eyeliner than her. Like a singer in an Emo band. He hated that comparison. No Emo for him. Hard rock and heavy metal all the way. It didn’t make a difference. There was no hiding those perfect lashes. Short, dark, even, and perfect. No hiding the colors and depths they shielded. Light and dark. Blue and grey. As tough and terrifying as he could seem, those pretty eyes always gave him away. There was a good, kind heart and a soft soul under that rough exterior.

He had hazel eyes.

Or so he said. She always said they were blue. This was how she liked to remember them. Blue was their color when he was happy and feeling good. When they opened wide to greet the world. Sparkly and blue like sapphires. Twinkling. Let’s play.

She didn’t like to see his grey eyes. Hiding behind bleary lids or a furrowed brow. Those meant sickness, sadness, worry, pain. All of those things she hated to see him suffer. The things she wanted so badly to take away. Even if it meant absorbing them into herself. Anything to bring back those sparkling blue eyes. Those pretty eyes.

He had small eyes.

You would never know it. They were small only in physical size. More than a window into his soul – his kind, beautiful, tormented soul. Those eyes carried his entire world. Every moment of joy, of pain, of struggle, of success were contained in those tiny orbs as if they were large enough to hold the universe. Shades of blue and grey. His past, his present. No lines on his baby face. Not yet. Just flecks in his eyes.

She wanted to crawl inside those eyes. To be part of that world. To be surrounded by it, rather than stealing pieces here and there, only to have them burrow holes into her very core. But they would not let her in. Or was she not trying hard enough. Afraid of being completely shut out. Or worse, of being let in.

He had wise eyes.

There was no way to hide it. He tried to play dumb. He was uneducated. But he was wise from experience and talented by nature. His eyes gave it away as he worked. Focused. Determined. Whatever the task might be. Creative and beautiful, mechanical and practical. Those expert eyes remained fixated on the task. Not wavering for one iota of a second. Until its masterful completion.

There was wisdom when those eyes looked at her. She felt them read her thoughts, her feelings, her soul. She never said a word, but his wise eyes knew. She heard them as they spoke to her in shades of colors and light. His eyes always knew just what to say.

He had powerful eyes.

Penetrating eyes. When those eyes fixed on you there was no misunderstanding. Piercing, stabbing. Back off. You don’t want to mess with this. Not today. Those eyes could stop a heart. Turn a man to stone. Delivering what the fists ached to do, what the lips wanted to say. A weapon of blue and grey.

Welcoming eyes. Blue and calm as the sea. Come on. Follow me. You can trust me. It’s all ok. Once they locked onto you there was no escaping. They drew you in. Until the color changed and the light shifted and they threw you away.

She was careful not to get too close. Only a few surface wounds from the daggers. Close enough to feel a tug but never to be taken by their full grasp, lest she be drawn in only to be thrown away.

He had secretive eyes.

She could never see his future in those eyes. That worried her. Was she in it? Was he in it? She was afraid for him. Why? She didn’t know. With all that those eyes had seen, with all that those eyes had said, he always seemed to be ok. Maybe it was her she was afraid for. Afraid that one day she will no longer look into those beautiful, wise, powerful eyes, or hear what they had to say.

He had beautiful eyes.