She asked me how it feels to have pretty eyes
An Angel asked me…how does it feel to have pretty eyes… And I immediately deflected, monologuing instead about how much I appreciated and loved dark eyes. How a flower once whispered in my ear that dark eyes looked like infinite pools at night— that you could swim deep within their waters and even drown, if you weren’t careful. I couldn’t answer without a prologue. But given space and time, I can now see: Sitting within my power does not negate the beauty in others. How does it feel to have pretty eyes? It was form over function— I couldn’t see and used glasses most of my life. But I used those glasses to temper their power. a thin sheet of cellophane and metal separating between me and those who wanted to cliff jump without testing the depth. My mother’s eyes are sky blue. My father’s, rusted brown. My eyes played the greenery center stage. give the tree a line! The hazel was the result of their passions a door knob turning but for a door that was already open. an inevitability of pow...
