The eyes staring back at me are blue. Ever-shifting blue-green as the ocean; a sea of contradictions. Blunt, yet scrutinizing. Piercing, yet not unkind. Curious, yet melancholic. Shrewd, yet innocent. Secretive, yet honest. Wise, yet naive; but in an inexperienced not unintelligent way. They seem to know something I don’t, yet at the same time know nothing at all. Not really. And yet, they are my own. They are my own eyes staring back at me in the mirror. How curious. I wonder how many see this and wonder. If I am the only one. The eyes reflect the soul, they say, but only the brave, the passionate ones truly shine through. Fire ignites, the light burns bright and clear and defiant in a sea of dark despair and cruelty. Those who have no hope left; whose light is extinguished; you see their souls layed bare and dead before you and you feel helpless against such a void, destitute, drained ocean.

And I ask: Which ones are mine?

Le silence de la mer1Le silence de la mer2


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