A wise man once said
The eyes are the windows to one's soul.
The eyes that we use
And take for granted their power to behold
But what we use to look out
Allows others to look in.
Oh the irony of it all
But what's sad is when you can look at your reflection and see the vacancy in your own eyes. The emptiness in those telling pools is almost palpable. And you can't help but wonder if anyone else notices. When they look in, do they realize the lack of substance in the area that is supposed to tell the most about you. Or is it something only the individual has the dreaded honor of beholding? Using what is given to see to realize that as you look in nothing is looking back at you. Dull. Still. Lifeless. The space that sits behind those eyes is not bright with the light of joy, nor is it grim with the darkness of grief. It just is. It has become space that exists because it must, with no acknowledgeable purpose.
Void.
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