Through the Eyes of Love By Kath J Hughes
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Rated "G" by the Author.
Though we think we see clearly, through the eyes of love we are often blind.
~ Through the Eyes of Love ~
Misty rain fell softly on the window, each tiny prism of water fallen from the heavens above distorting her view slightly. Softly she sighed, the warmth of her breath compounding her distorted view by forming a soft opaque haze on the glass.
She didn't actually need to see through the window. In essence all that the glass did was reflect her own misty eyes; each raindrop was a mirror of each tear that rolled down her cheeks. The condensation formed by her breath, her clouded mind, trapped behind a barrier. She sighed once more, a much louder, more heartfelt sigh as she turned to walk away. She hesitated as she caught sight of a memory, a glimpse of familiarity. A hint of deja vous crossed the foggy window of her mind and then it was gone and she turned and walked away.
She lowered her lithe frame into the comfort of her chair and as her body sank into the depth of its worn cushion so her mind sank into the depth of old and recurring thoughts. She tried to will the thoughts away but they were unrelenting, as unanswered questions often are. They came to her in waking moments, in day dreams, in her sleep, but will as she may she was unable to dispel them from her mind. Fingers of a raised hand tenderly touched her cheek, a solitary tear fell, rolling gingerly down her aging cheek. A clock chimed in the background; she drew her mind back from where it had begun to wander and rose from the chair. Tired eyes glanced around the room and for a fleeting moment she smiled.
Time was as usual getting away from her. She scooped up her shawl, slipped her fingers beneath the strap of her bag and nimbly swept it up over her shoulder, paused to glance at her reflection in the mirror, fingers smoothing a misplaced wisp of hair before walking towards the door.
She paused once more, at the window, still fogged by the contrast of her own warm breath and the chill of the rain outside. With finger extended she reached out, the soft pad of her fingertip gliding through the misty film, sweeping in small delicate lines. She stepped back to look at what she had done. Click of key in lock, tip tapping of heels on the path and she was gone. Left behind, etched temporarily in the mist for the world to see should they care to glance, a message.
On the window she had written “Through the eyes of love I was blind ".
At the time she was too consumed by the disappointment and sorrow of being hurt by someone who professed to love her deeply and by their failing to offer any explanation for ending what they'd had .. I am both the narrator and the story teller but it was some time ago and I've moved far beyond that now and have both grown from the experience and found new love *smile*.
So true. Even current scientific studies and brain scans show that when in love, those areas of the brain that reason shut down for some unknown reason. I wonder if the narrator ever knew the kind of love the lasted and rewarded her. Her sadness is felt strongly here.