Be certain, my love, I see many things every day. To count them all, every stutter of the eye which settles on some brief visual affair, would undoubtedly display an impeccable rate of activity. For these receptors are ceaselessly on the move.
For most things, my eyes wisp over like the wind in a meadow. As quickly as the tall grass bends to the touch of the wind, it falls back into form. Sparing but a moment’s breeze do my eyes see the meadow of reality. No optical investment takes place here, not in the routine Spring which harbors no real substance to grasp the attention of the mind.
Occasionally, my eyes will stumble upon some item of intrigue, some small gem in the otherwise dark cave. The details protrude too much to be deemed irrelevant. Small sparks ignite in the crevasses of thought, but in the end they remain just a flicker above lifeless, a gasp in an otherwise breathless room. A moment of investment is deserved and thus earned, still just to pass into the dustbins of visual experience with all the rest.
Scarcely, my eyes will be struck with awe. Some mosaic of visual experience takes center stage of a now forgotten scene. This wonder of fascination proceeds to flutter the heart and tingle the skin. All else in the mind quiets down to a whisper just so this site can penetrate every layer, every hall, every corridor of contemplation. Time slows down for such a beauty. Pupils widen and the expanse of visual possibility is probed at every boundary. These rare occurrences, these remote spectacles are forever a part of me, and I would not have it any other way.
And then there is you. My dear you are in a category all on your own. My eyes could never breeze over your loveliness nor probe the full extent of your beauty. Every attempt to semantically portray the details of your complexion would be inadequate, like trying to stop the world from spinning, or to explain just how large is the cosmos. For you, I would still try at such feats. I would fail over and over again, knowing full well that any genuine listener would believe your eminence to be fictitious. You belong among the stars in a sunless sky. So heavenly is your impression, my eyes see you even upon their close.
With Great Love,
Eyes Only For You