windows to a dying soul

Eyes

I have a thing with mirrors. Not a fear; I hate it when people say that. What I have is an understanding.

Mirrors are more than pieces of glass for us to ogle ourselves in. They are powerful devices for reflecting truth. They work with eyes: if your eyes are clear, you see what the mirror is trying to tell you. If they’re clouded, as so many are, then you miss it entirely. I hate that.

I learned years ago how to use my eyes the right way. I am a parody of a mirror: we both see the truth of a person, but instead of reflecting that truth at everyone I meet, I simply see it, store it, and wait. I use truth to help people.

Some joke about me being a mind reader. No, I say, I’m just perceptive. I am. But it’s so much more than that.

It’s looking into the core of someone. Not the mask they wear, or the layers of false truths, half-truths, and downright lies they hold in a cloak around themselves. Everyone learns how at a very young age- how to erect barriers of lies against reality so no one else can see the real you, stripped down below the bones. You might tell yourself you’re honest, that you don’t hide from everyone you meet, but that’s just another lie. Everyone does it.

I do it, too. But unlike the rest of the world, I know how to see through those shadowy cloaks of untruth. I hide in the shadows and see real people walk by.

The key is always the eyes. They want to break through the barriers, to communicate honestly with everyone else. If there’s a crack in the fence, it’s going to be there. So that’s where I look.

So many people, so many eyes. No two are the same- very similar, perhaps, but never identical. Two people might have the exact same color and the exact same experiences hiding behind their lids, but no two pairs of eyes are the same.

People walk right through me, but I don’t feel it. I’m in the zone, fixated only on the eyes.

Ring of pale green around the pupils, otherwise earthy brown. Happy, a little stressed, caring, altruistic, sweet person, smart.

Brown- no, not exactly…. deep honey, more like. Dark and dreamy- a deep thinker. Smart but low self-esteem, quiet, antisocial, withdrawn. A writer.

Big and hazel-flecked brown. Full of intelligence- math, probably. Equations swirling around in the mind. Fiery, funny, regal bearing. Great queen material.

Bright blue. Mischievous, sassy, intelligent. A good friend, if a little annoying. Jokester, prankster… loyal, understanding, caring.

Bright hazel-brown. Happy, smart… a sister. Caring and funny, if rather eccentric. A good person to have as a friend.

Almost black. Stormy, sad, quiet. So, so tired. Dead eyes…

I stop there, a little shaken. There’s always one, wherever I go- the ones who have, for whatever reason, given up on life; who want to leave it. I see them everywhere. I hate it.

Even more so because, in the back of my head where I have banished it, is the knowledge that I am one of them.

But it’s not just a desire with me. Because unlike that pair of dark orbs, I’m already on the other side.