Something old #2.
Eyes. It was always eyes: nothing else interested me nearly as much in other people. Where others only saw discrete variation in eyes (their blue, grey, green, brown divisions: solid colours and their relative simplicity in explicability were all that mattered to these others), I saw an infinity of possibilities. I saw not only these obvious discrete values of colour, but also the subtle shades of these colours and blends between them. I’d pore over diagrams of mammalian eyes to learn the technical details and structure of them: the inferior oblique muscule is the small muscle at the base of the eye, right in the middle, primarily controlling lateral rotation; the sclera is the protective outer layer of the eye; the conjunctiva is the layer on the sclera producing mucus and tears to lubricate the eye. From my technical understanding, I noticed the more abstract: the purpose of the eye’s state. I noticed the linear and circular striations of the muscles in the iris and the true depth of the black of the pupil, pure it its darkness, untainted by the diluting bestial nature of light; I noticed slight discolouration in the humour; I noticed inflammation of the conjunctiva from rubbing; I noticed inflamed and irritated blood vessels, showing their light pink bodies poignantly in their sea of white, as if calling for help in escaping their liquid prison. I noticed everything. I could tell what a person had done; what they would do. Smiles can be faked and gestures exaggerated: I could always count on the eyes to give me a real view of the motives of any given person. Eyes were dependable. Eyes were honest.
