Dear God: I know eyes tell secrets. They spoke to me on our last day telling me death would come. His vessel to cross the ocean and ride off the edge of the earth. The white of his eyes were yellow: pupils wondering aimlessly about them. The sockets might as well have been hollow. There was no light in there. I was looking at the place where God was. The place where a familiar spirit once resided, capable of stealing glances at me getting dressed for bed, seducing me when our eyes locked through the bureau mirror. Those empty eyes told his story.
That was then, when the man I planned a lifetime around turned out to be on loan for a season. He stained my eyes with the image of his stiff body wrapped in white sheets. Cotton stuffed in his mouth to sop up the foam bubbling out. Out of control now: virgin glasses needed to see new visions of life.
They say the sadness is in my eyes. The little girl hurting herself to stay in control. The giving lover holding back to stay out of harm. Where in my eyes does my sadness reside? How did it get out from the dungeon in my heart, locked up with all other emotion, but void? Is it the dullness of my gaze that gives me away; the squint of my eyes, or perhaps the teary glaze lubricating my lens?
Out of control now: I know not the secrets my eyes reveal. The story they whisper to the wind. Which of these new days will be my new day? Which sunrise will decode my pain? Flood my body with emotion. Which sunset will put me to bed wrapped in the arms of a new love? Rid my body of uncertainty.
I know eyes tell secrets. Secretly wanting to live again. Publicly wanting to die again. Out of control now: these eyes tell my story of a brand new day.