His Eyes

There is something so ridiculously inviting about your flushed face and slow smile.

I can almost hide my obvious bias for the boy with eyes that remind me of endless evenings well spent, chasing after nothing really and yet we find everything all at once and I just feel so whole. 

But then I think that your eyes remind me of a morning full of hidden yawns and the kind of stretching that makes your hands reach for the clouds that are revealing a sun peeking out from the mountains. There is light on your face and hope in the air that this day will bring a little bit more adventure and fascination. 

Never could I compare your eyes to the ocean as is so often done. Everything is so near to the surface when I meet your eyes that I can never bring myself to think of the depths of the seas when I am suddenly standing on top the roof of my house on a warm summer night that wraps around me like a friend I haven't seen in too long and I look up to the sky that has countless stars that I bet I could count if you would just stay a little longer.

However, I eventually come to the conclusion that when I look at your eyes my mind wanders to cuff links and your perfect hands fiddling absentmindedly and I race to wonder if you are thinking a million things at once and if you sometimes like to sit in the quiet and let your mind just think about what could have been. I remember what my hand feels like in yours and I wonder if you do too, and I think that maybe you would agree with me that it didn't fit perfectly because your hand is so big and mine feels so small but maybe that means it's perfect because my house isn't beautiful but it still has that irreplaceable feeling of home. 

Home is what I see when I look in your eyes. Maybe you would argue with me that nobody can feel that much from someone's eyeballs good heavens and I would get to see your face become flushed and eventually you would slowly smile and I would invite myself in. 

The End

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