Language of the Eyes


  Eye smirks. Those that you make across a room between two souls and no one else. They can mean so much yet so little. An inside joke. A simple acknowledgment at mutual existence. For us right here, it feels reminiscent of “I’m not sure what we’re doing, but at least we’re doing something.”


 Somehow, we came to be in this together – throwing hands up and laughing off our clueless mistakes. It’s uncertain, it’s craziness, and it’s the future. It’s staring us down, threatening to haunt us with the slightest misstep or misfortune. It all waits for us. Words are not fitting for this moment. It’s meager chicken scratch to try to describe this second in time. Instead, we smirk with our eyes.


 This is the breath. That breath before the heavens flood down, the moon beckons the tides to rise, and you find yourself past your neck where you’ve never been before. It’ll happen fast. One moment; dry land beneath you. The next; you’re gone. For now, we have our eyes.


 Since the dawn of times, people have called the eyes the windows to the soul and I suppose that’s true. I wont rant about cliches, because I think too many of them hold truth; for eye contact can make or break stone. It’s all a matter of intent and reception. I intend you to see excitement, terror, and adventure. The odd thing is, I have no control over what you receive.


 So tell me if this makes sense. Tell me if you are reading this clearly – all of our shared looks across rooms and for brief moments. Tell me what you see. All I know is what I’m putting out, not what is coming in. So tell me. Tell me about the look in my eyes for mirrors don’t convey true life.

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