The little things

Eyes

He had beautiful eyes
The kind you could get lost in
And I guess I did

They would change all the time depending on his mood. Sometimes they would be soft and blue, when he was calm and sweet, he was gentle and warm and every girl swooned.

But they could be silver, when he was excited and passionate, they would glint and gleam. They became these beautiful silver orbs, filled with lust and desire.

Then they would be grey and stormy, swirling and unsettled, unrestful. When he was anxious or scared but most of all when he was angry, the stormy eyes and his thundering rage complimenting each other perfectly.

And though girls swooned over the blue and sliver eyes, mine were the only ones they would stare deeply into. Mine were the only ones that could settle the storm clouds. My golden eyes were the only ones that could match and fulfil the lust of the silver.

Until one day, the storm darkened and the grey eyes turned almost black. The anger twisted and contorted him, but I was so lost, so longing to see the silver eyes I took no notice. Until one day those eyes stopped staring into mine, they glazed over, and eternal mist.

The eyes now controlled by the puppet master.

Originally published 5th February 2015