We have the same eyes.
The same stormy blue,
like tiny little ocean's floating in an expanse of coffee stained porcelain.
But yours have changed.
The combination of age, stress and sickness has drained them,
life's toll has turned them into the coldest sky blue one can imagine.
They are clouded now,
unable to see past the grey skies that remain eternal in your mind.
If those eyes were ever shielded by rose tinted glasses,
they are no longer there.
I don’t know when you lost that protective buoyancy,
but in the short years of my own life that I have known you,
it has never been there.
I try to alter your outlook,
replacing the bitter taste of pessimism with pieces of the sweet cotton candy clouds that hang in my sky.
I try to fill the spaces that were left gaping when joy and hope’s abandonment started to gnaw at your soul.
I stuff them with kind words, smiles, laughter,
and sew them up with hugs.
I’ll try anything to cure those never ending cloudy, grey skies.
But I’m running out of that sticky sweet substance,
and soon I won’t have enough for myself.
Soon I will run out of smiles and laughter,
and I won’t have enough energy to stitch up your wounds that always end up reopening.
Sometimes I wish that you could see all that I put myself through for the sake of us,
because one day I won’t be there for you when you need me most.
One day the color of my eyes will fade to the same cold, indifferent blue that yours are,
and I hope that you aren’t around for it,
because no one should ever see life leave their child’s eyes.