There is so much that can be written about a single eye, the way it sheds a tear and sees the world through blurry vision. And yet I am meant to describe them both. It’s difficult not to shower them in phrase for the life they allow me to live, seeing the world in idyllic, coherent colours and shapes. Many do not have such a privilege. I can the difference between the left and right from a small speck of dark brown beside the left pupil, hidden in the blue streaks of the iris. My eyes were described as the blue of a sky reflecting off a skyscraper’s windows, though always I have found this description too industrial. It did, after all, come from a building designer. I believe the irises are coloured like the livid ocean at St. Ives, warning the land of the storm to come. This is the place my mother grew up. We are very alike. She has blue eyes too, always appearing concerned.

Always I have seen the world for its small, unnoticed details, usually hidden beneath a cluster of leaves or in between the rain drops. Even when the pictures I see are so large I take so much joy simply finding the surprises right under my feet. Always I am looking up, down, around, but never into another eye. Always I have struggled looking others in the eyes. I was teased for it at one point, which lead my eyes to stare menacingly into others simply to prove that I could be social in that silent, staring matter everyone considers so essential for humble conversation. A stranger’s eye is more threatening than the eye of a storm. It has caused many tears. Was I missing out simply because I didn’t like to look others in the eyes? It felt like it. All my life I have watched the pool of tears I’ve cried grow larger and larger, though now I believe it’s slowing. Now I am looking wherever I choose without judgement, venturing through the unbeaten track simply because I saw a flash of something bright and alluring and utterly novel.

To my eyes, I am sorry you have an intolerance to dust and I am sorry that you sometimes swell so large. Always you remain open and seeing even if that’s through a puddle of tears. Sometimes the world will be cruel and always you will see this cruelty. Nevertheless, you’re the reason I am who I am for what you’ve seen I’ve thought of, imagined, incorporated into my stories and drawings. I hope we shall work together for many, many years to come.