The Colour of Your Eyes


   The colour of your eyes is a natural brown, dark as the earth, illuminated only by the artificial lights of the ever-present, time-stopped airport. It's eight o'clock at night, it's five o'clock, it's still somehow ten in the morning and I have never been more awake. They shine with laughter and you throw your arms around me, I throw the two I have around your shoulders and I don't hit someone else by accident with my cane. You laugh, and you sob, and you hold me close, and for a moment, we don't have to pretend the world is all right, because in the here and now, it is.

   I don't tell the taxi driver our names. We don't need them, not here, as your hand clenches mine and we ride through the snowy night to where we'll spend the moonbreak hours, together at last, laughing and kissing and with no regard for anything but each other. I show you the twenty candy bars I snuck across the border for you. You show me a felt hat that makes me look with my cane like I've walked off a film set. We laugh, we cry, we hit the gas station for the snacks we forgot to get. Your eyes are brown as wood and brown as loam, and they are filled with laughter and with love, and I have never been happier to see such a rich colour looking my way.


   The colour of your eyes is a blazing red, bright as an inferno, blinding because there has been blood on the floor and there's a reason why. It's all I can do to settle back in my chair with my milkshake and know that whatever comes next, it will be glorious as only watching the world burn down can be. If you fall, I would catch you, but you will not fall, you never do. You are a fire too bright to truly behold if one wasn't forged in something like it. You would set the world aflame and rebuild it from the ashes, and I would help, and we would make something better than what fell before you.

   I stand beside you now to watch it all go up in flames, drowning in the blood-red of your eyes, and I have never been more in love. Your fury, righteous and powerful and shaking the world down to the ground, forcing all to kneel at your feet, is glorious. It's a pretty game to play, to dance with the fire, and the careless delight of the embers as they rain down is all but perfect. I don’t tell the world I witnessed the inferno, and the fact you love me says I will survive without a scratch. What hurts can bleed, and the blood hits the pavement like nothing else matters. Because nothing does. Here and now, the world is yours, and to witness you in control of the flames is nothing short of deification.


   The colour of your eyes is a softened blue, shimmering like the depths of the sea, and I could drown in it. You've come to rest, now, come home from the cold and the glacial skies and set down the paper bag of groceries and corn chips to the surprise that energy found me, and our small home is spotless. (Save for the garbage, of course, because I am ever so new here, and I don't yet know where it goes.) I'll place your hand in the crook of my arm and we'll go for a breakfast of pasta and challenge the world, but it's a quiet, serene morning. The blue in your eyes is dark, but it is gentle, and it is wonderful.

   There's nothing of the rain in the dark blue of your eyes. You already drowned the sun and moon and I, too, find myself diving deeper into the blue. I wouldn't catch the tide, but I would chase it, for the hum of the wind and the chatter of our voices as we cross the courtyard. We have no idea what we'll do today, but a walk in town would be nice, the shimmer of the drowning sun against your eyes reminding me of what's always below the sky. We comment on the architecture and you tell me of summer, when the frost dies down. You blossom in the here and now, in the dead of winter, and show me the pearl of a heart you hide under layers of warmth. Here in the sea of your eyes, the only warmth you need is a smile, and to chase the tide, I'll give it to you.


   The colour of your eyes is a hidden mirror-black, spangled with stars. We dove so deep into the sea we found ourselves falling into starlight, and oh, I have never seen this many stars. A town is not a city, and I have known the city for ever so long. You laugh and remind me of the late-summer fireflies, rising stars I've never seen, and when you pull me close I can almost feel the rustling of almost-forgotten wings. The night is deep and dark and neither of us are afraid, no, we are at home in the dark together where nothing can touch us.

   I tap the ground in front of me with my cane to check for black ice as we walk, ice that doesn't reflect the starlight in your eyes. It will vanish by daybreak, vanish and transform into something wet and running and waiting to birth new growth from beneath the frost. In the morning, we listen to the birds sing the coming of spring. The starlight is hidden with the black when daybreak comes, and that's all right, because it's waiting for us to reach for it again. The stars will return to witness what comes once and never again, and you pull me along to the bus stop, laughing, and if there's black ice you'll catch me when I slip and twirl me around with a laugh and a smile. For such freedom under the watchful stars, all I need to look for is your eyes.


   The colour of your eyes is a breathtaking brown and within them sparkles a million secrets, a million memories, a million moments both long gone and not yet been. I could prophesy how the world may end and begin again in your dark eyes, and I don't care to, not right now. No, I will look within the darkness of your ever-shifting eyes, and stare down into an abyss that stares back at me, and know it for the love we share. The colour of your eyes is a natural brown, and nothing else could be so perfect.