Our eyes meet. They linger. They linger longer than is polite, or remotely necessary. I look, and I see your eyes are the colour of the translucent blue-grey agate you sell on your counter, the same colour as your t-shirt, and the colour of the shrouds of cloud obscuring the sky.
You hold my gaze unflinching. Your face softens with a shy smile. But I have been staring. I turn away, and am dragged back to my reality by the noisy demands of my clamouring offspring. I leave a universe of possibilities swirling in my wake.
Another time, my love; another time. But I should have told you, I wish I’d told you; your eyes are remarkably beautiful. I think of them, and sigh.