His eyes danced, like in a ballet, gracefully, wonderfully. They reflected everything about him, the good and the bad. His very nature to be discovered in a glance. The torture and silence they held when good things diminished were nowhere to be found, not anymore. He's changed. They were replaced with elation and laughter instead. His eyes might be full of wonder or full of tears, and it wouldn't matter, because they'd still shine. The striking color of the irises, accented by eyeliner and warmth, would be recognized anywhere. As before they were documented accented by fury and despair. How can one change so much with so little? One would get lost, staring for too long, lost inside his soul, inside his prison. He invited so easily, one could never walk away. Eyes would meet his, and fill with their own sadness. Understanding the scars inside of his own, feeling his pain, as he once did. Just the once. The eyes would feel such a bitter-sweetness; they would become unwell with a glance. Like a stomach with too much chocolate to digest. A happy self-inflicted sickness. One could never regret peering into those orbs, experiencing the soul of the boy without one.