Happiness As Seen Through My Eyes

“Quit it!” she demands. “Would you stop!” she insists uncomfortably. I love to stare at her; to look into her eyes. Aside from their alluring beauty her eyes are her history. They contain the archives of all her memories. Until recently it was only through those eyes that I could see those memories for myself, the faces and places she cherishes, moments shared with people closest to her, even those now long gone. With her family before me, her memories unfold in real-time. The secrets, the longing for what once was, the actuality of what will never again be, the promise of what may yet come. Every glance is another snapshot of her. I stare.

How astonishing these eyes of ours are. They are in a way scavengers, promiscuous even. Sight is foreplay. Even when entangled with her as I yield to pleasure and close my eyes; I can still see every inch of her. And later, asleep and dreaming, I can see her again. I stare for the snapshots so that even years later I can call them up and still see her there. My wish is that someday she will see herself through my eyes. As I see her. For now, I stare.

We talk of love at first sight. Is there really such a thing? Both men and women attest to it. But do we really see the same thing? We use our eyes to scan each other on first sighting and trick them into giving us glimpses of the future. A future may be untold but is rarely unseen. A hand on the small of her back to guide her to her seat, the expectation of her needs before she has them, the need to make her voice the last thing I hear before falling asleep…..these are the cues that we will rehearse someday. I used to think I knew what love was. Now at least I know what it looks like. Tonight, I will drift off to sleep and call her up again. This is happiness, as seen through my eyes.