It is in the eyes.

You know what I miss so often? Someone who looks me in the eyes and sees me as I am. I’m not talking about trusting conversations or secretiveness we sometimes play. What I mean is just one look and he understood something about me everyone else had failed to notice. Does it matter then what we actually told each other? All the things we didn’t say out loud?

Even if this wasn’t my illusion and it is actually possible, are we strong enough to withstand it or do we run away from the intrusion?

Because eyes are powerful. It’s through them you realize someone’s place in your life, their soul as they say and what this soul can do to you. There’s the beauty and the terror. Although sometimes mild or ambiguous, sometimes funny and pleasant in a momentary recognition of something in common before the words are spoken. Moments when a simple look can tell you the course of the relationship you should have with this person. Moments when you get to know where the truth lies.

I remember the sparkles of their eyes, people I met for a day, staying at the same hostel or doing the same tour and sharing that particular day’s experience, those sparkles that made us want to talk to each other. Trust them. They take you places and connect you with adventurers, provide you with late night debates, glasses of wine, observing stars, a temporary intimacy, more important than any while being on the road.

I remember the profundity of the others, those with whom I shared days after days, wishing they would last an eternity. Those blue sad wanderers, those green bold challengers, those brown gentle admirers.

It’s in the remembrance of those eyes, in the dark of the nights, lying on a single bed and catching shadows on my walls, I forget they are no longer present in my life. There’s a grief and a recovery.



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