Leonardo da Vinci, 1503.
They say that the eyes are the windows to one’s soul.
I believe that.
I met you for the first time when the sky was blanketed by darkness once again. I admit, sometimes my memory betrays me and there’s not a speck of remembrance. The days and nights blur into nothing but insignificant wisps of the past.
I have chips of memories from that night, but there was an instance where we both caught each others’ eyes. It was one of the most beautiful coincidences I’ve – no, perhaps, we’ve (if I can be wishfully presumptuous for a second) ever encountered in our ephemeral lives.
A mutual understanding was scripted around us that exact moment. We were cast as irreplaceable, yet volatile characters in each others’ lives.
The moment I finally dared look directly into your eyes, there was blend of incongruity and a shot of gloom. I was unsure, but it seemed like an infinite pool of sorrow with a glimmer of hope that I was staring into.
I’d jump without hesitation and swim into the grief if it could let me get closer towards you.
Perhaps I did dive in, a little too quickly during that split second when I forgot that I didn’t know how to swim.
The helpless kicks began as I started gasping for breath while flapping my frail, exhausted arms. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to save me. You tried, but didn’t grasp as tightly.