Peter Inglenook

Back then your eyes were blue, bluer than the sky, bluer than the ocean; their magically blue hue kept me captivated. I looked at them in awe, again and again, whenever you let me, and I talked to them. I used to talk to you too, even when you did not reply, but talking to your eyes was different. They answered. They asked. They gave and they took and they gave.

Your eyes were a gift, and when they first opened to me I cried and I promised you, oh I made a promise to the world, that I would do everything I could to make them smile, to keep them keep them keep them keep them safe.

One morning I woke just in time to see them look at me. They seemed to be looking at my soul, although you probably didn't know yet what a soul was. Can one know a soul without knowing of it? Can one feel a soul? Even if you didn't, you at least touched mine; you touched it so softly and so truthfully that it made me a different person. My soul will never be untouched again, and neither will my heart.

Once there used to be worlds hidden in your eyes, promises of great adventures, of joy, of life.

Yesterday I saw your eyes again. They were black and they did not speak to me. In the distance, though, I could still hear their blue hue breathing noiselessly.