Sunday, October 10, 2010

Well of eyes

Her eyes are hazel; they are oval, deep and inviting. The beauty of staring into them is captivating, a breathless experience, her eyes speak volumes, whilst her mouth cannot. I continue to stare gradually falling deeper and deeper into them, not even bothering to grab hold of something to steady myself, I welcome the fall, I welcome the experience to hurtle through the depths of her eyes and see what she might want to say.

Her iris contracts as light passes over them, it breaks my fall like the sudden awakening from a nightmare, but in her case a sweet dream. Her eyes follow it, she smiles, not with her mouth or lips, but within the depths of her eyes, the light fascinates her.

I did not know how long I had been entranced for, it could have been a couple of minutes or probably a couple of years, the quantitative data mattered not to me, it was just the quality of the time spent there which moved me.

Such beauty is rare, and to be in its presence is something which is highly impossible to describe. The pure unblemished nature of her gaze is astounding and all but frightening.

It can only be her, her and her eyes, the thieves of my attention, and the marauders of my imagination. She may be the only one to ever allow me to understand the beauty of life when it is innocent. The only one to solidly anchor me to reality, the only one to ever make me feel substantial, loved, whole. This is all realised by a single gaze into those eyes, her eyes.

Even though her words cannot be heard, her gaze speaks with clarity, her gaze tells me she does not want to change, she wants to remain pure, innocent, and her gaze tells me that this is the only way she can make an impact on me.

All I can do is smile, because I have been there before, the feeling of moving yourself forward and then propelling yourself backwards.

However, we all have to grow, we all have to evolve, change. This is the essence of life; it is our calling, our duty, our creed. As she grows so will I, and I will no longer have to rely on her steady gaze to keep my feet planted to the meagre strands of reality. I will no longer have to cite her as my influence, as my antidote, I will have to cite myself, and this is the essence of life. To rely on others until you can stand alone and also give someone the opportunity to rely on you.

Whose eyes are these?

Figure it out.