Have you ever noticed how a person's eyes look when the sun shines directly into them? The pupil and that dark ring around the iris become infinitely black, and the iris itself looks like its been made from a translucent butterfly's wing. Whenever I see sunlight-eyes, I fall in love. Sunlight- eyes are forever open doors, allowing a view into a house filled with mirrors and crystal. You can never be sure if you're seeing yourself or the person whose eyes you watch.
My sunlight-eyes are beautiful. They are honey with sparkle and green dew- sheen. My long eyelashes cast spiky shadows- like tiger stripes. I have always been a bit on the vain side, my friends all tell me so. I stare for hours into my mirrors, observing how my gleaming brown hair seems to have red shimmer where the sun hits, how my expertly plucked eyebrows arch neatly but keep their thick shape. My Euro-Latina blood gives me the look of an exotic forties pin-up girl.
I have a lovely fat, round little tummy, and Marilyn Monroe legs. My hips are broad and my breasts are round and full and perky. They fill a C-cup, which is as large as breasts can get before they droop. My friends complain about their large breasts, how they sag onto their bellies. We're still young, but I won't tell you how old I am.
My body is perfect, in my eyes, except my wide feet and thick ankles. I can't wear strappy heels because my feet are so wide. I hate them.
Sometimes I feel really ugly. I feel that my usually cute belly is disgustingly floppy- it's really quite firm and small- and that my curves make my look fat. The tiny wasp waist I have seems grotesque and my lips are too full and not wide enough. My childish button nose seems more like that of a troll than a baby pixie, and my round face feels smothered by fat cheeks.
Normally I love me cheeks- how they dimple when I smile and how they fill my face. I think I really do look like a pixie. I even got my haircut to purposely accentuate that aspect. If you've ever seen the film Amelie- it's French- you can imagine the title character's hair on me, with choppy razor- end bangs falling into my gorgeous sunlight-eyes.
We just moved, my family and I. We moved to a tiny apartment downtown, and the neighbor boy has a little sun that hovers in front of him, constantly lighting his eyes. I'm in love.
He's very thin and very pale and I think that next time it's really sunny out, I'm going to go watch him to see if he's transparent. His hair is bleached and grown out quite a bit. It looks like he stole it from Leonardo DiCaprio in that 1996 version of Romeo and Juliet. I love that movie. Neighbor boy has long arms and long fingers and long legs. His face is as delicate as that of a female model, so sharp and thinly drawn.
His sunlight glow is magical in his roman eyes of syrupy chocolate. They seem to belong to a paintong of the Italian Renaissance. I'm in love with those Italian paint-boys.
My friends tell me I'm always in love. Perhaps it's true. I'm in love with everything beautiful and real and false and ugly. I'm in love with sights and sounds and other senses, and inlove with the lack of such things as well. I am in love with everyone and everything that is not mediocre, because I cannot see that, and I can see it too well. Mediocrity is invisible and ever present in my sight.
My love is who I am. I only exist in love. I am so empty and vibrant.
I am in love with sunlight-eyes.
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