You can’t call my eyes blue. They are tinged with green, maybe of the sea. They are wistful and grayish-silver sometimes, just like my hair can be. I look into my eyes and I see longing, and wanderlust. Sadness and mystery and daring. A hint of yellow marks adventure. They are confused yet probing and deep. They change color. Sometimes they are deep greenish with blue if I’m feeling creative, or gray if I’m wistful.
My eyes change with the seasons and the weather. They change like my heart. They have stayed the same over the years, but have grown wiser. They are not so round and full of wonder as they once were, but are more angular now with some knowledge of the world.
I don’t think about my eyes often, but people complement me on them. They are beautiful, they are deep. I thought they were functional. I never realized that they reflect myself to the world. My eyes see many things, but sometimes forget to look within.
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