Eyes.
they don’t just look,
they speak.
Not in words,
but in storms,
in softness,
in silence that says too much.

You can lie with your mouth,
but your eyes.
they confess.
Every fear,
every ache you’ve buried
behind a smile
lives there.

They hold childhood,
heartbreak,
hope you swore was gone.
They carry the weight
of sleepless nights
and things you couldn’t say
when it mattered most.

You learn to read them.
not the color,
but the story.
Some are locked windows.
Some, open wounds.
Some shimmer with something
you almost recognize—
maybe love,
maybe loneliness.

And sometimes,
you meet a pair
that feels like home.
Not because they’re perfect,
but because they see you
without asking you
to perform.

Eyes.
they don’t need permission
to feel.
And when you meet the right ones,
you don’t need to speak at all.