*The beginning of the first in a series of short stories*
I lived my entire life never knowing what one color was. I had only ever heard about it, people have tried to describe it to me. But I never, ever knew. Until she looked up at me. And suddenly, I was awake. I was awake and I couldn’t stop looking in her eyes. I’ve heard it described in so many ways, for all of the different shades. But hers, her was every shade, every part of the spectrum. Big, almond-shaped, brown eyes.
I watched the light catch them and move through them. In one instant; so deep, dark, vanilla brown that I could barely tell the pupil apart from it. In another, shining like brand new warm wood floors that oozed mahogany colored comfort and warmth. And then she laughed. She laughed and those warm eyes glowed and sparkled like the gods themselves put individual pieces of lightning-bright gold into them. I think she was laughing at me. I’m not even sure what my face looked like, what expression I had. She laughed again, and I heard it this time. Sounding so carefree, so happy, so fucking beautiful. I’m not sure I could talk, I’m not sure I wanted to. Knowing me, and anything about me, may just corrupt her. I didn’t want my darkness to scar her light, to dull it, I didn’t want my darkness to touch her.
I was probably looking at her like she put the sun in the sky. Or the stars. Or created the universe. I probably had the dumbest look on my face. I couldn’t even remember how to move. I was just looking at her. Fuck, I haven’t seen perfection like this. She wasn’t laughing anymore. She was smiling. But not smiling like she was happy, or about to laugh. She was smiling like she had a secret. And she was looking right fucking at me. I wonder if she could even see me. Maybe she was looking right through me. I’d look right through me too.
She raised a perfect eyebrow. The same eyebrow on the side where one side of her mouth turned upwards. God, her mouth. How did it take me so long to notice that beautiful mouth? Only slightly pink, naturally pink, and contrasting with her hazelnut skin. She looked soft. Everything about her looked soft and smooth until sharp cheek bones hit her
She was intense. But her intensity was something that drew people in but could not be handled by all. If one made it into her depths; she was dark ocean matter, poetic cynicism in curves of imperfect awareness. She knew nothing as certain, except art, poetry, and herself.
Published by Kimani Rose