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?