I knew a girl once, who was
beautiful like the rainbows in a soap bubble. She could
hypnotize you with a glance,
flooding your brain with
childish fascination. She had long, gorgeous dark hair, and
lips that went on forever. Looking into her eyes was like
staring at the sun, from forty feet away. I swear that if the
heat of it did not directly melt you, then you would
suffocate from it at the very least. I only did it once. It was a
warm summer afternoon by the neighborhood pool. The sky was dimming, and she happened to be sitting next to me. I turned to glance at her, in that same
insecure manner with which I always looked upon her, and
caught her eyes. They just swallowed me. I saw the clouds reflected in them, against that beautiful shade of
blue. I can still see all the lines, the spots and bands of light and dark color which give eyes their true
complexity and
beauty. And at the center of that, her pupils, deep and
impossibly dark. How long did I sit there like that?
"What?" she said.
I stammered,
fumbling for some sort of
eloquence to explain my still-present stare. "You have very deep eyes."
She gave me a strange look. "
You're a weird guy. Sometimes you kind of scare me." Then she dove into the pool.
Why do all the pretty things always run away from me?