Those Eyes

Those eyes.

“Those eyes? just dull and blue,” she said like she’d skimmed the surface and moved on.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, shaking his head,

because she hadn’t looked long enough to see.

Those eyes they’re not just blue.

They’re the kind of blue you only find in the deep hours of the ocean, where sunlight fades and secrets sleep.

Not sky blue.

Not river blue.

But old blue like the kind sailors feared, when maps ended and silence stretched forever.

They don’t just look at you, they pull at you

like tides tugging your thoughts off course.

You don’t just see those eyes,

you feel yourself sinking into them.

Soft and slow,

like forgetting where you were going.

Those eyes don’t give answers.

They hold storms, lullabies, and things you’re not sure you’re ready to know.

They’re easy to get lost in

but almost impossible to walk away from.