they say when you write, you should see eyes.
yes, eyes, for as we know, they are the gateway to the soul.
“…in every character you should write his eyes
because, in them, there is purity and innocence
that cannot be found or recreated.”
when i write i see my brother’s eyes.
eyes that change from pale gray to deep blue
to seafoam to turquoise to the color of a summer sky,
depending on the day and what shirt he’s wearing.
eyes that light up and squint when he’s spewing
out another sarcastic, but usually truthful, insult
to the person he loves the most in the room.
eyes that stare into space and see something
no one else does in the middle of your long-winded
conversation about “things you need to do.”
eyes that flicker with every challenge he meets,
that ignite competition and zeal during basketball games
and video games and games of bloody knuckles.
eyes that are like fat bubbles about to burst
when his favorite Katy Perry song comes on
and he sings and fist pumps all the way home.
eyes that well-up when he is struck with memories
and of saying goodbye and of approaching the next step
and of leaving loved ones and feelings behind.
eyes that charm the wits out of everyone he
comes into contact with, making them forget
all of the things they were worried about.
eyes that scan the room for a friend
who is standing alone, who could use a good joke,
who he’d like to help unveil as a marvel in disguise.
my brother’s eyes are:
eyes that see,
eyes that believe,
eyes that know,
they are the ones that bring back
my childhood nemesis and
my girlhood best friend.
when I write I see my brother’s eyes:
eyes that see me,
eyes that believe in me,
eyes that know me.
i see my brother’s eyes
like they were etched in the page,
so i write of all of the things in his soul,
that make him better then me:
his belief, his loyalty, his eternal optimism,
his honesty, his openness, his heart.
and out of those words, forms characters.
they are the one’s i love the most
because they posses
the spirit of my brother;
they are enchanted with the world,
the world is enchanted by them,
every spiritual and bodily fiber of them
contains the possibility of greatness.
when i write i see his eyes,
because in them i see a thousand dreams.
in those dreams i see magic
and me and my brother:
pretending we are the
duchess and the prince
building our sand castles,
never growing up but
living under the sun,
gazing into the ocean,
living like kids,
with eyes squinting,
across a beach of