I met a boy. Late-June… maybe July.
The boy with wash off blonde streaks on the tip of his black hair replied,
“ When my eyes gaze at that other, I can tell if they’ve fallen in love.”
“With you?” I scoffed.
The lukewarm coffee felt the sunlight seeping in slowly, ready to illuminate butterflies I was about to feel.
“…”
My pupils dilated as his irises diminished. Must be true when they said there is a tint of gold in brown eyes.
But our souls differ, that was his language of love.
I did not wish to be one of his nouns.
So the boy with the gold irises went away,
to find another who looks at him the way I used to.
