U
G
L
Y

You once said my eyes were beautiful.

I acceded, as it was the truth. My chin was too squared, which made it seem as if there was a defiant air about me. I had a hooked nose which was slightly too big for my liking. My cheekbones were too high, and combined together, my facial features always seemed at odds with each other.

Only my eyes... I like to think they're the color of cornflower blue. As pure as the rivers in mountainous areas.

Yet now you say my eyes are hideously ugly.

Ugly.

I accede, as it is the truth. One of these beautifully ugly blue eyes are swollen shut by a dark bruise (I know the timing and the progression of its colors too: from black to blue to green to yellow.) It was a moment where control slipped you and your fist, knotted up with all the rage behind it, came colliding into my cheekbone and I was sent flying.

How ironic it is, that you used to kiss my eyelids and murmur sweet nothings against my fluttering lashes. And every time after you inadvertently lose your temper, you would lick away the teardrops in my eyes and I would relish that feeling of the pink tongue swirling circles on my delicate, paper-thin (and strangely, almost translucent) skin.

But that is the price of love, isn't it?

You kiss me, caress me and I melt underneath your touch. In return, you accessorize my face with beautifully ugly black eyes.

Now, you say I have ugly eyes.