The boy that I love has deep, brown eyes. It was there where I found kindness, innocence and honesty. He sings – rather badly – about heartbreak and his jokes are not always nice. He likes watching TV on Saturday evenings and drinking wine by the window. He loves riding his bike in the park, feeling the cool breeze against his skin, maybe in the rain.
From time to time, he also likes looking at me. When he does, words come through and I understand them, and he doesn’t need to open his mouth. The words he speaks with his eyes, go straight to my heart. He tells me that I look pretty, and I become more and more his own. He can see the beauty of my inside and outside when I feel small and ugly, and it makes me smile. It also makes me cry.
The boy that I love has brown eyes that I adore, and I wish I could tell him every day that a life without them is a sepia postcard of a time I don’t want to relive. I wish I could tell him about the times when looking into his eyes became the reason I could push through the hardships of my life.
The boy I love is no longer a boy. He is a man and he is not here anymore. I rely on my memory, on the million snapshots stored in my head, to find the strength I could only find in him. I look for that boy in the corners of my mind so I can smile a little and cry a little more, but the images are fading, and every day I see him less clearly. Every day, I hurt a little more.
The boy I love will never be around again, and more than anything, I will miss the small things he gave me without knowing that made me happy. So tonight, I will give him a star, one I can look at from down here when I feel lonely, to remember him. One he can look at when he feels lonely and be with me. It will shine as bright as the light he brought to my life. Maybe one day, it will make him smile – one day, perhaps much later, when he no longer remembers how I looked when he told me I looked pretty. Or maybe, if he remembers me, it might make him sad, only for a minute, before he remembers he can always find me in that star, and when he looks at it with his eyes, he would be staring directly into my own.
Then, maybe, that star would keep me alive.
And maybe, one day, when I am long gone and his eyes belong to someone else, then I will be looking down, wishing that all the love I ever felt reaches him, if not from me, from that fortunate one who gets to see his brown eyes looking directly into hers, telling her how pretty she looks. The brown eyes of that boy who sings about heartbreak, drinks wine by the window, and loves riding his bike in the rain.
You, my boy, are all I ever wanted and the most beautiful thing the world ever gave me. I will always be yours, and until the end of me, I will follow you if so was your will. I will always be right here.