May 19, 2009
Every one of my friends has a pair of eyes. Blue eyes of every shade; some like the sky, some like the ocean, and some so pale they appear gray. Green eyes too, always looking at something, a soldier in camouflage, sneaking through the brush; green like the grass on a summer day, sensing the smell of a freshly cut lawn. Brown eyes looking down, shy; they are scared of things they may see. These eyes all stare like they’ve just seen a murder, forming judgments and opinions based on things that they see.

His eyes are different, intriguing and hazel. They look deep inside, like an x-ray machine. They see more than the surface and pass no judgment. His eyes are my comfort, they are a baby’s blanket, and its only way to dream. They blink slowly like a turtle, and never loose their focus. They listen. His eyes make me happy, loved, and understood. They show me he cares, they see me for me. His eyes are different.

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