Wispy Blue

I will never forget the gentleness in his wispy blue eyes whenever he saw me looking at him.

The corner of his eyes would wrinkle a bit, not as a testament to his age, but as a display of emotion on his otherwise stoic face. A ghost of knowing smirk would also adorn his face whenever his wispy blue would catch my coffee brown, projecting a seemingly private long-established intimacy between us. Those wispy blue would reserve dedicated kindness for me whenever I felt the need to inhabit temporary sanctuary that would fend off external criticism.

His wispy blue could be very cruel too—tirelessly locating unwanted truths about myself that he could easily spot without even him having to squint. I never figured out how he was able to procure a specific pair of optics that could strip me bare in front of him, making me cold with insecurities. That pair of wispy blue could effortlessly destruct walls that I had specifically erected to guard myself from outside scrutiny. He did make some efforts in sparing me from believing only bad things about myself by baring himself in return, wordlessly showing me that we were actually more alike than he would like to admit.

But I recently found that, though his wispy blue could never got tired of examining my soul, he himself eventually did. Maybe, getting tired is too harsh of a word, he just simply did not care anymore. I made some efforts in trying to salvage everything, but my attempts were futile due to our shared similarities that frankly were too similar. Though we seemingly looked different with his wispy blue and my coffee brown we were too much alike that we even regards each other's actions and underlying intention the same way.

Now, those wispy blue no longer reserve any gentleness, kindness, and warmth for these coffee brown.

Now, those wispy blue no longer dare themselves to look into these coffee brown.