A small gray speckle.
One and a half blue eyes. They focus carefully. Adjusting. Focusing. Assessing. Perhaps judging. Clouded mirrors to the soul. A blur of what is or what can be. The unknown confuses the soul. A blur of what is or what could be.
There are a hundred speckles. But the most lovely is by her eye. It has a shape that can be described, but there are no words for it. When I touch it, it morphs. A new shape - a new emotion.
One and a half piercing blue eyes. And a small gray delicate speckle. Her smooth softness is undeniable. The indifference isn't.
Love should go two ways. It hurts when it is only one. And the two doesn't notice.
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