irises

sorry for love yet again.

it's just what hurts.

I always thought you had brown eyes.

they were soft and deep,

kind of like your soul and a little bit how you spoke.

they defined you and me

and the proximity 

of our fingers intertwined.

I missed them often

but they were always familiar;

always immutable

always brown.

but last night you looked right into me

and when I looked back,

I saw hazel

something I'd never seen in you.

I had known you for three and a half years and never saw that obvious green tint that blended between the brown I had always loved.

maybe brown was always for me,

but last night when I saw green I knew it was only for her.

your eyes became strangers and in five slow seconds,

my heart broke its last piece;

the last shard still standing became shattered, and it felt like my arteries couldn't keep pumping the last ounce of blood back out into my veins.

I cried

but the rain covered up my tears;

the sky knew I didn't want you to see.

you left me with bare palms and a weakening pulse

wet hair, wet clothes

and my wet eyes,

they longed for brown when I got my last glimpse;

but all I saw was hazel.

that green tint that blended between the edges of brown.

a hard, shallow,

non-immutable,

unfamiliar

hazel.