Growing up, my idols were Ralph Macchio
and Scott Baio
, Billy Joel and Michael Jackson. My best friend in grade school, Blair Holt, also had brown eyes, brown hair. So did my ex fiance and my ex boyfriend. It's not that I don't find green or blue eyes
attractive, though I can't say I've gone for many blondes
and simply haven't met enough redheads to make a decision. Men who have green or blue eyes often have eyes that make it difficult for me to look into them. It's as if they have a clearer perception simply by having lighter irises, and that means they can see me
more clearly. Whenever a man with non-brown eyes looks at me, I feel naked, embarassed, as if every facet of my attraction or rejection of them is going to show, like blisters rising on my skin. They make me want to look away; it's just too much
I have green eyes, with a rim of dark blue on the edges. They aren't what I would consider striking, but I like them enough. Men with brown eyes always seem to have something they hold back, some part of them that is hidden far away. When I talk to them, I can look in their eyes; I am not afraid. In fact, I want to look into them that much more because they are darker. I've found I'm more interested in the shades and gradations of dark eyes than all the brightness and exposed radiation of lighter ones. Their eyes dart more, focus more, drift off more, while blue eyes tend to fixate on their target, like the red beam on the sight of a firearm.
Once when I was in church, one of my friend's cousins was attending from out of town, and he had those piercing green eyes. Small as our church was, I pretty much had no where else to sit but facing him, and I embarassingly couldn't keep my eyes off his eyes. He would pan the room, as I did, out of boredom, and when our eyes met, pow. And it wasn't like there were sparks there; there didn't need to be for the pow. It felt like a small and sharp electrical shock that is minimal enough to tempt you to get another one and another one, for no reason that makes sense.
Brown eyes, perhaps, calm the cat in my eyes, they don't conduct energy but subdue it. I need that, at times. I need a dimly lit room so that I can confess without being on edge, a place that is calmer than my calmest day. And that's not to say that brown eyes don't have fire. Indeed they do, and even that fire can sharpen to a spark or level like a layer of coals. The passion in brown eyes may be misguided at times, as it is for anyone. Some brown eyes I've known have thrown me into fits of frustration and tears, while blue eyes stayed on, unaffected. You knew what you were getting with me the blue eyes said. With him, you'll never know.
And that is true, I may never know what I am getting with brown eyes. But it's already too late. I'm hooked.