Brown Eyes, Pink Converse

“Three Years Looking Into Those Eyes” by Jorge Peña, 2017

Her brown eyes caught my attention first. Luna’s always found this absurd and claims her eyes are boring, that there is nothing special in them. I wholeheartedly disagree, though I know I might never manage to change her opinion. Her eyes are that of the soil in the ground which enables yellow daffodils to bloom in spring. Her eyes hold pools of happiness visible even on the darkest of nights. They sparkle with every smile. If she’s terribly upset, her eyes will simply go blank.

Rain poured down angrily on the night of our first kiss, and yet I don’t think the sky has ever been more beautiful. The light sparkled in Luna’s hair as she stomped in puddles with her tattered pink Converse sneakers. Her eyes were so bright, so happy as I suddenly cupped her cheek and kissed her in the moonlight. She held me so tight in that moment that I felt, for a split, second as if I were unable to breathe. But I don’t need oxygen when I’m with her.

I like being alone with Luna, up in the clouds of our own reality. Time is nonexistent when we’re together. I love that feeling where my smile is real and constantly present. It never felt this way when I had a boyfriend, when I flirted with any boy. With Luna I can feel free to laugh without inhibitions. Sometimes a heavy weight forms in my stomach, scared of what people might say about two girls holding hands and kissing in the rain, but that fear disappears when I think of her. Of us. Of this.

I like her smile, I like her eyes. I like when she looks me in the eye. I like her messy hair. I like when she tries to make me laugh. I love the sound of her laughter. I like when she sings under her breath. I like when she loses her head over a topic she knows so much about. She’s not afraid of the things I’m afraid of, or maybe she’s just better at hiding it.

Luna’s eyes are brown, yet they remind me of a crystal clear lake in which one can see everything occurring under the surface – that is, if they stop to look for long enough. These ponds of beauty are windows to her soul, to her heart, both of which are filled to the brim with such strong contrasting waves of ecstasy and sorrow. If only she’d allow more of the world to see it all.

I know Luna can’t understand that I love these things about her, because when she looks in the mirror her eyes don’t appear to hold any joy. And if I mention the beauty of her crystal eyes, which are but one tiny item on the list of things I love about this girl, the subject is dismissed. I don’t think she understands that beauty is a factor which stems from within. It stems from one’s character, one’s heart.

I know that, to Luna, those brown eyes are plain. She views herself as mundane and lacking in variety. She is missing out on one of the most beautiful sights of this Earth.

I want to hold her and ask for the reason she dislikes these beautiful brown eyes. I wish she could admit everything she’s never said out loud, the simple and complex, the good and bad. I love all of it, because all of it is her. This girl’s mathematically driven mind, her unlimited humor, her stubbornness… I love Luna. All of her.

And I look forward to everything nowadays, because every passing second is one second closer to seeing her, even if not always in person. Even if our conversations only go on for only a short while, I treasure that time. Luna makes me happy. She knows my odd obsessions and doesn’t accept my flaws, seeing them instead as positive attributes. Sometimes I’m still baffled that two teenage girls, one with purple hair and the other with pink Converse, may spend their time holding hands and kissing in cold storms. We are far too lucky.

We pick each other flowers when the weather permits it. In summertime we paint each other’s nails and throw our heads back at awful puns. I like when I’m the one who makes her laugh. Luna dances with me to the beat of the raindrops, her eyes glowing in the darkness as we stand face to face with no one paying any attention to us. Or maybe they were all watching. I don’t know. Any movie star could’ve been beside us in that flooded street and I wouldn’t have paid any attention, because only the girl in my arms mattered. Nothing matters besides the time I spend with Luna, the one who smells like peppermints and wears striking pink Converse every single day. She has my full attention, always.


Evanthia George is a young writer, currently studying English in university. She is from San Francisco, California, and aims to be an author after finishing her education.


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