I never thought about eyes in any other way than the way they were meant to be used. But the trouble is, the more I looked, the more I saw. And the more I saw, the more I realized I haven’t seen a thing. I didn’t see everything. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t see motives, I didn’t see heartbreak.
Until I met you. And then it all made sense. I see right into your eyes. They’re like crystal balls, telling me all about you – your past, your present, what you love and what you hate.
It’s all there inside your eyes, in a place so obvious, people forget to look.
The sadness creeps up on me, seeping into my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
It’s the rain, dripping from the pine trees onto the dirt in front of my toes. It’s the windscreen wipers screaming as they try to keep up as I escape into the hills. It’s the dark clouds and thunder – loud and angry, ripping through the air. It’s bleak mornings and drawn curtains, dark rooms and heavy blankets, smothering the light of day.
And you tell me you feel it too – coming over you without warning, wrapping itself around your chest – forcing you to face the thoughts that I know all too well you keep hiding under the surface, pretending they don’t exist.
This melancholia, as you like to call it, follows us around and around. Until we’re simply deep swirls, on a starry night canvas, never touching.
Like the plug pulled from a bath or a hurricane in the sky, we dance around the issue and destroy our destiny in one deep twirl.
Everyone has a different version of us in their eyes and their hearts.
To your boss at work, perhaps you are smart calculated and well-dressed. To your friends, maybe you have a nice car, a nice house and your kids go to a nice school. To you partner, perhaps you are too quiet, you work too much, you’re always tired…
We have multiple versions of ourselves floating around in the minds of others, but at the end of the day, we need to decide what we want to look like.
Do we want to be the person who cared more about their clothes, than clothing the poor?
Do you want to be the person who had a nice car, or the person who helped someone who’s car broke down on the side of the road when everyone else just drove past?
Do you want to go to a church that preaches about ‘loving thy neighbour’, but not a single person in the pews would look twice at a homeless person on the street?
Who we want to be is a direct reflection of what we will be, in the minds of the people around us.