Dead eyes.

Eyes showing a soul wounded unto death.

Eyes with nothing in them of hope, or happiness, of ambition  or laughter.

Time was when she was gorgeous. Vivacious. Popular. Everything I wished for but couldn't be.
And when we met today, by chance, everything seemed quite normal.
On top, anyway.

Oh, she's run to fat, a little, but I am not the one to take her to task over that.
And she can't have a job, not until the court case says she is allowed to go on carrying her gun... and again, I'm in no position to tell her she should work.

And her father died.
In the bath.
After a lifetime of loving her and being her anchor.

But her eyes!

Those green eyes I set as my standard for optical beauty....

Flat.

Empty.

Dead.

I wish I hadn't seen her.

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