Eyes, in their mirror-like qualities and telling signals, are curious parts of the human body. Expanding or shrinking pupils in the presence or absence of light or stimuli. Widening or squinting eyelids in surprise and joy or suspicion and anger. Quickening or slowing blinks; a sudden clarification or a slow glazing over; eyes are truly amazing and curious parts of our bodies.
Some eyes are more special than others.
Some eyes are not simply brown: they are Dove dark chocolate brown. Once, they had flecks of golden honey or fool's gold. Without losing any of their sweetness, those dark chocolate eyes lost their honey flecks.
Those irises, dark and inviting, contrast the blinding white of the sclera and the creamy white skin of the eyelids and cheeks. Eyelids lined with delicate, long, ebony eyelashes that belong on a China doll.
These are the eyes of a boy.
These eyes peer inquisitively at me from behind corrective glasses, a little too early in the morning. Smiling, they ask me to play or they beg for breakfast.
Sometimes, they spy and track my movements from behind a book they should be reading. Reflected in a mirror, they squeal in joy at tickling hands or funny faces when they should be concentrating on brushing teeth.
Clear and attentive, they stare in fascination at new flora or fauna on a hike through the wilderness of our backyard. They light up when "Life Is A Highway" comes on the radio as we dance in the kitchen while making dinner.
Erratic and concentrated, they race across the screen as Mario struggles towards the finish line and (undoubtedly) fails to rescue Princess Peach yet again. They curse silently when Mario dies at the hands of a pesky red shell.
Glazed over and hazy like frosted glass, they vegetate in front of the tv and watch the black screen when it is much too early to be awake. The squint and pull a DS screen closer and closer, desperate to win.
Chocolate pebbles that sparkle and shine as they chase me around the front lawn and grin maliciously when they catch me around the back porch.
When sleepy, those usually vivacious eyes become dull. Eyelashes slow their butterfly kisses and the eyelids that seem to be perpetually widening squint as blood vessels become visible. Those tired eyes swell and close: pretending not to be sleepy, fighting their weariness. Darkened eyelids cover eyes that are finally still and doll-eyelashes finally rest motionless on smiling cheeks.
My doll, my brother - the little man.
Some eyes are more special than others.
Some eyes are not simply brown: they are Dove dark chocolate brown. Once, they had flecks of golden honey or fool's gold. Without losing any of their sweetness, those dark chocolate eyes lost their honey flecks.
Those irises, dark and inviting, contrast the blinding white of the sclera and the creamy white skin of the eyelids and cheeks. Eyelids lined with delicate, long, ebony eyelashes that belong on a China doll.
These are the eyes of a boy.
These eyes peer inquisitively at me from behind corrective glasses, a little too early in the morning. Smiling, they ask me to play or they beg for breakfast.
Sometimes, they spy and track my movements from behind a book they should be reading. Reflected in a mirror, they squeal in joy at tickling hands or funny faces when they should be concentrating on brushing teeth.
Clear and attentive, they stare in fascination at new flora or fauna on a hike through the wilderness of our backyard. They light up when "Life Is A Highway" comes on the radio as we dance in the kitchen while making dinner.
Erratic and concentrated, they race across the screen as Mario struggles towards the finish line and (undoubtedly) fails to rescue Princess Peach yet again. They curse silently when Mario dies at the hands of a pesky red shell.
Glazed over and hazy like frosted glass, they vegetate in front of the tv and watch the black screen when it is much too early to be awake. The squint and pull a DS screen closer and closer, desperate to win.
Chocolate pebbles that sparkle and shine as they chase me around the front lawn and grin maliciously when they catch me around the back porch.
When sleepy, those usually vivacious eyes become dull. Eyelashes slow their butterfly kisses and the eyelids that seem to be perpetually widening squint as blood vessels become visible. Those tired eyes swell and close: pretending not to be sleepy, fighting their weariness. Darkened eyelids cover eyes that are finally still and doll-eyelashes finally rest motionless on smiling cheeks.
My doll, my brother - the little man.
No comments:
Post a Comment