I never loved my eyes. The pale gray with flecks of yellow and green never appealed to me. I’d stare in the mirror for hours questioning, wondering why I never got the beautiful colored eyes I’d find staring at me from pages of magazines.

But his eyes.. His eyes are magic. Everytime they peer into mine they light up like the sky on the fourth of July, and I know mine mirror that right back. In those moments, I love my eyes. His face is a mirror and in his eyes I see mine.

The color of his are difficult to explain because there are more than just one. A swirling sea of blues and greens and grays. From the clear blue sky we gaze at on warm summer days to the cool green of the soft grass that tickles our backs while we lay there on those same summer nights.

When he laughs there’s a sparkle, a shimmer, a shine. Reminding me of the stars in the sky, all placed into one being so that I alone can admire the light--the light we gazed upon on that one early spring night.

But when he’s sad.. oh when he’s sad, my tranquil seas roar to life. His eyes can’t contain, can’t control, can’t conceal the emotions he feels. His eyes become gray. Gray as the snow on a mid winter day--as the snow on that one mid winter day.

When he’s happy, I’m soaring. Flying through the soft blue skies. When he’s sad, I’m anxious. Holding for dear life as my boat roars through the seas; threatening to tip over. I know, however, that whether I see green to blue, or a deep, dark gray, I know it takes no more than a look, a glance, a gaze, to make his eyes light up again--and mine, the same.