Eyes

“I like your eyes,” you say.

“Why?”

“They’re honest.”

I don’t reply yet the answer sticks in my mind. I turn and face the mirror, looking at my eyes through my reflection. The eyes are the windows to soul, they say.  They never lie. They always tell a story, whether it’s one of happiness or sorrow or excitement or pain.

“Do you really want to marry him?” You asked quietly.

“Yes.”

I close my eyes so you won’t see the delicate truth in my practiced lies.

I close my eyes so you won’t see the story I’ve been hiding inside.

image credits to Cherry Boom at picship