Saturday, February 22, 2014

When his eyes met hers, he stared into them. Deeply.

Long, curly eye lashes. Big eyes. Deep brown. Beautiful.

The kohl in the sides of her eyes had smudged because of weeping. Beautiful, nevertheless.

The innocence in them, the spark in them, though wry, the pain in them, plunged a hole at the center of his heart; in a blink of an eye. 

Who says, eyes aren't a heart's a mirror? 

Who says that eyes aren't a soul's a mirror?

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