There she is.

The dazzling, million dollar smile. The prominent cheekbones, that cutting edge jawline — don’t even get me started on her eyes.

Jesus. Where do I begin?

Sure, they aren’t blue, or green. You can’t paint them as an ocean or the Amazon’s canopy. But let me tell you, they’re an entirely different thing altogether.


Heavens, if brown was directly correlated to beauty she’d be slathered in it.

And yes, I know.

“Brown eyes aren’t special, they’re everywhere!”

Let me tell you, her eyes are the most captivating thing I’ve ever seen. It’s not in the color. It’s the way they glint. When she speaks of her sunday morning mass, her eyes come to life. Her pupils dilate, the corners or her eyes crinkle, and light hits them like it deserves to be there.

God. I don’t know if it’s because they’re her eyes or it’s something else entirely.

I swear, they’re golden-brown sunrays. It’s a portable sunrise.

They’re my morning light —

and she’s my sun.

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