Mamí

To you, her eyes were blue. But her eyes were not blue, she was. To me, her eyes were two sapphire gemstones which spoke with animation and muse. They were an overly washed pair of denim jeans which shelved the wear and tear of her disposition, as a child would display a toy. They were Aegean reservoir, a watering hole for my mind. They were two 10-dimensional, yet amorphous, cerulean pearls which carried the trail of one million miles of stars. They were filled with a beautifully constructed rhapsodic orchestra. Their occasional rainfall led to the obsidian smudge underneath the left only. Regardless, they appeared articulate and abstract. They were an artificial siren call, arguing the idea that you were meeting your fate and it was beyond control. Allowing reflection upon your life to be made evident. They may have resembled the sky after a crippling oceanic storm. But her eyes were not blue.