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The Way Your Eyes
I love her eyes
I love her eyes — the way they hold stories untold, like a vast ocean shimmering under the light of a thousand sunsets. They are not perfect by any means, yet they are perfectly hers, perfectly mine. They’ve seen the world through shadows and storms, yet they never lose their luster. They hold a quiet resilience, a strength so gentle it feels like a whisper, a promise to keep moving forward.
Her eyes are a reflection of every moment she thought she couldn’t make it but did. They carry the weight of sleepless nights, of tears shed in silence, of laughter that spilled into the early hours of dawn. They’ve been windows to dreams she dared not speak aloud and mirrors of fears she’s worked so hard to overcome. But through it all, her eyes have never stopped searching for beauty, even in the darkest of places.
There’s something about the way her eyes catch the light. It’s not just the sparkle — it’s the depth. They don’t just see; they observe, they feel. They linger on things others might overlook: the delicate curve of a falling leaf, the fleeting smile of a stranger, the softness in the shadows. They remind me that there’s poetry everywhere if I’m willing to look for it.
Her eyes speak even when her voice falters. They speak of courage, of the battles she fights within herself and the victories she earns when no…
