My families eyes are similar. But like snowflakes, no one is exactly alike. My dad with deep brown eyes like puddles, waiting to swallow you with a hug. His eyes are smaller than ours, a pebble compared with our rocks. My mom’s eyes are clearer than the sky, a vivid blue. Like water, her eyes engulf you with love, and gives you a drink when you most need it.
My brother and I inherited the puddle eyes. His eyes are lighter, like milk chocolate chips melting in pancakes. With eyes so sweet, it’s almost impossible to get enough of him. His eyes are chocolate moons, getting bigger and fuller as the days go by. His calm light guides when it’s too dark at night. My eyes are the sun, burning to look and expel energetic excitement. They dance about, wanting to memorize that exact moment, and burn with the knowledge.