There are those that use their eyes to mirror their souls, and the latter to use it on occasion to seek the soul of the person who hast stirred their curiosity.
and what if i was to keep the use of mine as a medium of constant observation?
That no revelation could be had through the curiosity of others,
as i was always the searcher, and never the pool of thoughts that one could simply dip their hand in and retrieve the hearts murmurs.
I cannot think of one instance where someone has seen inside my heart.
If i were to leave it on my sleeve, vulnerable in the blackness of a pupil,
it would surely grow cold and wither in these mediocre conditions.
How can the average hearts that surround me, steadily beating within sleeves of frail cotton look into a heart buried so deep?
I can only presume that the love I feel should be kept within myself.
I love as if I loved with all my heart, a person in a last life which I never have to grieve.
A love so protected, no knife or daggered eyes could pluck it out.
These eyes have been on constant watch,
as if they were the everlasting ripple in the water of a hidden well,
and my heart, hidden at the bottom, could not be seen under such furious waters.
And if this water were to glass and mirror, and my heart be seen,
I think it should shatter to a million pieces.