Eyes are empowered to convey and obfuscate so much. It’s a bit esoteric, almost akin to astrology, divining pretensions from glints in wet eyes. Could you read happiness in them, absent the tugging of corners in the lips? I can’t pretend to know the psychology of eye contact but surely you’ll find what you’re searching for and what you’ve already experienced. Recognition of memory, of emotions; you can only anticipate the familiar in a glance.
Ideation?
Transformation?
Even loneliness, buried in an iris, recessed by whatever warm light tries tricking you into believing otherwise. Staring long enough might let you glean enough. Is there ever enough time to pull all that you want from a glare or passing wince?
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