Dark Eyes

Two dark eyes looked directly, fixed, almost like in a state of trance straight into mine.

The room looked gloomy, filled with the colors of a late afternoon; tones of orange and yellow gently touched the furniture that lay inside the living room. The silence was sharp, almost too uncomfortable and very atypical for the entertainment protocol that was set in that old house.

On the coffee table there was a tea set, carefully placed on a silver tray that also sparkled with the slow moving light coming from outside; slithering in between the curtains and the hanging plants that captured most of those golden tones.

The cups on top of the tray were made of old porcelain but did not match; some had little tiny roses painted in pink with golden accents on the rim, while others had blue Asian illustrations that were hard to make out from afar. The cups were empty.

Next to them there was a teapot, round and compact, with steam coming out of its spout and the streams of tea bags rolling out of one side tied down to the holder on the opposite end; waiting patiently to steam the tea into the water.

The silence suddenly was broken by the sound of an old clock sitting on top of one of the side tables; a symmetric sequence of tic-tacs that came out from the wooden structure which hosted the mechanism of that clock. The face of the clock showed the time. It was quarter to seven, one hour ahead of the actual time.

This sudden noise made it clear that the silence was a painful reminder of the state of those two pair of eyes, looking at each other, quietly, intensively. My hand moved, and reached over for the tea pot, pouring it gently into the china cups, making crisp little sounds as the liquid filled their contents and tainted their pale shiny walls with an amber-looking color, releasing their warmth and aroma.

I sat quietly as I did this, glimpsing over into your eyes every now and then; contemplating my actions with care until I noticed my hands. The skin showed its time; they were not soft or smooth anymore, instead, wrinkles portrayed a field of memories that started flowing into my head; they shook a little with the weight of the teapot, with the sadness.

As I looked back into your eyes, mine began to dilate as tears started invading their edges. - I remember. I said softly. -I remember how this started, and for some reason, it makes me sad. I said as I brought my eyes down into my hands that now held one of the cups, sitting quietly on my lap.

The other set of eyes showed no emotion, they remained unchanged.
My voice started breaking with the sudden stream of emotions that flooded my mind. –I always wondered where life would take us; I said softly. –I dreamed of the adventures, of the possibilities, of the love, of you.

As I lifted my face, our eyes met again. –I always wondered what it would have been; I added. And with those words, I withdrew.

The shadows of the sun had changed to shadows and no more. The room was dimly lit by a single lamp that remained forever-on sitting on the top of the old foyer table that marked the entrance to the house and as my eyes put away yours setting you back inside your little lacquered box that kept our secret. I proceeded to carefully lay inside my broken dreams, a few tears, and your picture.

Before I locked the lid, I looked back at your intense dark eyes and with a smile invited you back for tea, tomorrow, at the usual time, with the usual tea set, just you, I, and the broken dreams locked inside this box.

-Good night. I whispered.