Friday, May 25, 2012

The Girl With The Glass Eyes


I once saw the girl with the glass eyes. 
When I was very young, a child of no more than ten. 
I saw her walking up my street one day. 
And when I saw her she looked more beautiful than I understood. 
Her olive skin glowed bright in the sunlight. 
Long, wavy dark hair flowed down her mane with soft curls framing her face. 
Her plump, rosy lips looked succulent and sweet. 
Her body lithe and tight in a yellow sundress,
with breasts and hips that made every man swoon.

As she passed me by she turned and gave me an honest, lonely smile. 
And then I saw her eyes. Those glass eyes. 
It was as if I saw right into her soul. 
I saw sadness, sadness carried from years before.  
She felt ordinary, unimportant, and undeserving of such admiration. 
She couldn't understand what everyone desired.
All she ever wanted was to be unseen. 

The burden to remain beautiful was too heavy to bear. 
It felt like a wasted obligation. 
People expected it of her but no one knew the wicked truth but her. 
That one day it would all fade away, and no one would choose to gaze her way.
 They all lusted for her but no one truly loved her. 
How could they? No one cared to actually know her. 

It's been 60 years since I saw the girl with the glass eyes.
I've dreamed of her every day since.
I wonder where she is. I wonder who she became. 
I wonder if she ever found happiness or love. 
As I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, now old and gray, 
I can only hope that I'll get the chance again one day 
to see the girl with the glass eyes. 
And if I do, I hope she'll smile again and finally see me too.



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