She turned to the boy.
“What color are your eyes”?
“Green” they both said at the same time.

She turned to me.
“What color are your eyes?”, she asked.
I took off my glasses so she could see.
“Blue. Bluish-gray”, she said, as if observing these eyes for the first time.

These are my eyes, I wanted to say,
And this is not the first time that you’ve seen them.
Don’t you remember the color of the eyes of Nirvana?

You used to see them every day, how could you forget
My eyes
They are a beautiful blue gray.
Beautifully unforgettable.

Or so I thought.

But in my mind this wasn’t so.
It is as though my eyes have been erased from her conscious memory,
Perhaps forcibly.

Her eyes aren’t gone at all.
They are green with little brown flecks.
They are easily accessible to me.

But the fact that I remember her eyes does not do any justice for mine.


There is a chance that she really didn’t forget
Those two beautiful pools of water,
That she was only reaffirming her judgment.

If not, where are my eyes in her thoughts?
Are they wedged between images of taboo happiness and the halos of yesterday,
Crushed by pictures of many new, unconsidered eyes?
Have they been labeled “ Nirvana’s Eyes”
Only so as not to forget?

I hope not.