My family has similar eyes, but close up you can tell they’re distinct for each individual. My father’s eyes are like a river filled with honey, one glance and it’s as if they’re taking you on a journey. My eyes are as bland as an abyss with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. I could never compare them to others but I hated how they always revealed my emotions. Kristine’s eyes memorize the sun. Like a golden flame, flourishing with compassion. 

My mother’s eyes are unique. They have hidden emotions that are only exposed to me. My mother’s eyes are like a sweet flower. Plucking their petals to risk their beauty for me. The glances she gives are messages of comfort. Wrapping me around with a blanket, filling me with aid and relief. The blanket she used to wrap me when fear struck my eyes during the dreading downpour. The blanket she used during the sleepless nights where she just held me listening to the sound of my breathing as if it were her blanket. She is all that I need. Her eyes, her support, just her.