Each person in my family has telling eyes. Each tells a story about the person behind the eyes. My sister’s brown eyes are wild. They shoot every direction, fast. Unconcentrated, unobservant, but passionate about something. My mom eyes are small, hazel eyes. They are determined. They are strict. My mom’s eyes are like planes with an exact destination. When she wears blue, her eyes become blue too; her eyes are a follower.
My dad’s nearly black eyes are very special. His eyes are nervous, thinking, observing. They are seeing. His eyes are a mathematician, always calculating, always judging. At times, his eyes are joyous and playful, but those eyes don’t shine often.