Maybe one should not trust brown eyes. A canvas of daily worries, a dead spark still
fuming in public. Sad eyes are
attractive; happy eyes make you wonder.
A blind man smiles sadly; a woman in love has the smile even a blind man
can see.
Maybe one should not put a face upon his present. It will always be an adapted old face. It would have new lines, and it will have new
shadows. The face we once had should be
left to Black & White pictures. The
ones you keep in shoe boxes. The ones
that smell of time and dust. The new
face is a canvas of the passage. A proud
one, if you are lucky. A predictable one
if you have spent too many nights worrying about the sunset. About lips you have not kissed. About eyes you had kissed in a train station
or without knowing how tears taste.
Maybe one should not trust that there will always be a
tomorrow. And one should just do what
today suggests. Without worrying about
the lines on the old face or the gray replacing the black, the auburn, or the
red.
Reality is a funny thing for those who trust sad eyes.
May 5, 2010
©Vahé
Kazandjian, 2013
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