Her Eyes

a writing by Tracy Marie Windisch-Mason

I remember her eyes. The kind of haunted looked that have
seen a thousand miles.Aged by the city. The hardships of the streets.The drugs.She wore crayola felt washable markers for eyeshadow. Somehow she carried grace. She was beautiful to me. I almost felt the vibrance of her years passing as she told me stories of her youth. Distraught within chaos, she was enchanting like an autumn chill.I could hear the scorn from others within her voice.Agony echoed from those eyes.Love stilled. Life stirred. I recall every moment. Those eyes. Intensify inside. Judge not. She was exquisite to me.

xx Tracy

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