Roamer's Drabbles

Eyes

It was her eyes.

I had looked into millions of eyes before hers, and had never felt the surge of emotions that seemed amplified by the seconds of contact. It wasn?t the color or the size or an attraction. It was the pure emotion that her eyes contained. Those eyes were haunted on the surface, battered and bruised by the trauma they had witnessed. Yet, if you looked deeper you could see the faint glimmer of hope, the little girl inside of her begging for someone to help her. The way the orange faded into green, a kaleidoscope of colors, conveyed a mass of feelings. Her eyes were wild unabridged, unaltered, raw emotion.

It was funny because I had known her for so long, and her face was a perfected mask of neutrality. She was always in control, but with one look in her eyes, I found the element about her that was out of her control. She couldn?t control the darkness lurking within them, the pain, or the hope. It only took a second- a second of a look and I realized that I was staring into her personal hell, but in the horizon I could see my heaven.

She looked away. She always looked away, as if she could feel me intruding into her mind.

It was her eyes. They were the unspoken plea. They were why I knew that she needed me. She didn?t need to be her hero- she simply needed someone who could look into her eyes and see that she wasn?t okay. That she needed someone she could be broken around. Someone who saw past her mask.

It was her eyes, that sold me her soul.