When I stared into your eyes before, it was different.

Now, this isn’t something you get from doing weed or tripping on acid. No, it’s something that I just playfully imagine inside my head. Before, when I stare into — take note of into, and not at — your eyes, I see the definition of eternity. Infinity. Perpetuation. Limitlessness. When I look too carefully into your eyes, I see the path of an unending beauty. Side by side an uncomprehending galaxy, your eyes, they compete and triumph in my own perspective. In my view, there’s nothing so endlessly expanding too beautifully than your pair of two, small-scaled, perfectly-shaped eyes.

But now, somehow, after all that’s happened and after all that we’ve been through — again, I could say, it’s different.

Now, all I get is the feeling of the loss of magic. Presently, all I could look into are plain, all-too-human eyes. Nothing so special. Just plain, staple white circled parts of our anatomy blotched with dark centers that caters to our sight. When I stare into them, now, it’s like there’s nothing in there anymore.

And I guess I could mourn for the loss of something so beautiful that existed once in my life. But I’m done with that now, I guess, and it’s time that I find myself again, lost in someone else’s eyes. By that time, even if it wasn’t you and your eyes — I’d be happy. I really would be.