His Eyes

His eyes had gone a dark grey colour; you could almost say they’d turned colder. When I had first met him just a few months before I had looked deep into his eyes for a long period of time. Then, I had seen sadness. The pools of deep blue hadn’t shown any glimmers of hope or optimism. They were tired and I could tell from the wetness that he had been crying. He had been sad, and it was that plain and simple. But now, silently looking into his eyes in this dimly lit room late in the afternoon, there was nothing. It was if as the colour had drained it had taken all sense of emotion with it. He was no longer sad, he was empty. And I found myself wondering; is a world void of all feeling, a world of numbness, better than a world of sadness? I decided that, no, with emotion there was a chance that something may change. Even if he had no sense of hope. With emptiness there was nothing.