Your eyes.

Some people say it's the smile, or the lips or the hair,
Or even some obscure feature like cheekbones but for me,
For me it's the eyes.
The eyes are the most important feature of the face and yours are unlike
any I've ever seen.

I can't say if I noticed them right off or if it took me a while,
But when they hit me they really hit me,
Clear and green and interested and so noticeably ALIVE they sent off
And left me standing there,
Wondering what just happened.

They're the eyes of a philosopher, a thinker, a dreamer;
They search and know at the same time,
See everything and want to see more,
Stare off into space and see the universe and what it is made of.

I can picture them clearly,
Sometimes lost behind your hair,
Sometimes lit up and crinkled at the edges as you laugh,
Sometimes unfocused but never glazed as you're lost in thought,
Sometimes intense and serious and looking right into mine and making me

But for everything your eyes see, for every secret revealed to them,
There's something they can't see, something they miss altogether.
For all the times our eyes meet, yours don't see what lies behind mine
And I can't decide if this is good or bad,
If I want you to know or not.

I think about this but then you look my way
And I don't care what's behind my eyes anymore; I'm consumed by yours,
Eyes that are both mirrors and portals to another world,
That shine light on the dark and magnify the minuscule atoms of life, and
I'm sure of one thing:

If anyone ever asks me why you, of all the people in the world,
I won't even have to think about my answer.

It was your eyes.