Numb Eyes

I’ve met a girl some time ago. Her name, Emily, has been printed in my head for days and days.

What marked her, for me, weren’t the delicate traits or the full lips nor the brown curls. Those eyes – brown, almost honey ones – engulfed me in a prison from which I couldn’t nor wouldn’t escape. Those eyes absorbed my attention like two black holes, not giving anything in return. They seemed to already have the world inside of them and still captured me. And even though they had seen a lot of things, those orbs transmitted so much clarity and peace that I got dizzy.

I had never seen anything like that. All the eyes able to focus on me had the same desperate level; even though some seemed to give up, there was still that last hint of regret, of wanting to fight and to live and give themselves a second chance, give the world another chance. There was always that suffocating sensation of hope, on me or on those stranger’s eyes.

But Emily’s eyes didn’t give anything. Nor fear, resignation or relief. There was an almost scary numbness on them. There was a shadow that make me throw up every time I remember it. Because that shadow had an almost sick, euphoric note.

I’ve met a girl some time ago. Her name, Emily, causes me chills until today. She was the only one I’ve seen passing away without regret.

Because she had already embraced death even before bathing herself on her family’s blood.