Windows to the Soul

(Inspired by the image by the beautiful Maggie Chang. Story is all mine, Image is all hers.)

The eyes are the windows to the soul. That’s what the old saying tells us, right? That’s why I’m stood here, on the circumference of his pupil, looking up at the infinity of his iris, an aurora borealis of greys and blues, all flashing differently in the shifting light. His eyes are beautiful, and so I suppose that it makes sense that his soul is too.

From where I am, I guess I can see what the old saying was getting at. I can feel the depths of his soul burning away underneath my feet, and as I reach my fingers up in an attempt to be closer to the colour of his iris, I feel the boiling of the stormy blues at a temperature only the human soul can possibly survive at. The colours are writhing in the heat of life, and battling for territory- there’s a perfect balance of grey and blue, with white speckles of light that filter through the other colours and land on the pupil, being absorbed into the energy of his soul.

I walk along the edge of his pupil and think about the old saying. I feel the throbbing of his soul underneath my feet as I stroll, and realise that eyes and windows are rather similar, in three big ways.

Windows are meant to keep out dangers, but let the light in. I feel honoured to be standing so close to his soul here, and the clarity of the colours around me feels somewhat distant- I’m not being fully let into his soul on this plane, and yet it is so beautiful here that I doubt he has anything to hide.

Windows are also excellent conductors of cold and heat, and that seems especially evident here. The fire in his eyes burns white hot when you’re simply looking into them, never mind when you’re stood on the surface and wrapped in that intensity. I can’t really explain how it’s working, but I can see his emotions in the depths of my sky (his iris) and some deeper part of me can feel all of them. Yet, the protective facet of windows remains true- while I can feel his love, anger, sadness, curiosity and joy, I don’t have any of the reasoning behind why he feels this way- and it’s driving me mad. It’s beauty and insanity and so utterly complicated that I doubt anyone could ever crack it;- I’m not just seeing his soul, I’m feeling his soul.

Windows are meant to let you see everything clearly, that’s the maddening thing- his eyes are allowing me to do just that. Yet, like a fogged-up window, it is as if I can only see the shapes, the basic building blocks of why he is the way he is. The stresses that give his eyes the darker streaks of grey, the joys that give his eyes the brightest and most innocent sky-blues; I see every one of them. I feel every one of them as clearly as I can feel my own feelings and you can feel yours.

It’s the ambiguity of it all that kills me, every time he allows me this close to him. I am allowed to the windows of his mind; I’m a peeping Tom figure here. Observing his soul through a safe layer of distortion. I want to feel it properly- the true fire of the emotions that the clarity of the colours promises will be worth being burned and consumed by.

I sit down now, in a particularly warm patch of pupil. It’s beginning to grow ink dark here- I suppose that in the outside world more time has passed than it feels has passed for me. He must be getting tired. I realise a fourth thing about windows.

You can give them warmth.

I clutch two hands over my heart and wait until I feel a tingling- a cool, smooth burning, and slowly pull them away. They glow pink and flash red as I press them down into the ebony black of his pupil. It dilates up and covers my ankles for a brief second, before dropping me a foot and causing me to land roughly and cry out. I’m sure I’m about to regret just giving him what I did, that I’ve just made a huge mistake and I will die on this beautiful window; but then his pupil returns to normal.

So, love from me has no effect on him? I battle disappointment and yes, perhaps, tears. However, a split appears in his pupil just in front of my feet, and a brilliant ray of white light shoots out. And another, from another split in his pupil a few feet away. And another. And another!

My sky now dances with brighter blues, fewer greys, darker, deeper blues and the brightest, purest kind of white that can possibly exist, that can only be forged in the heart of a human soul. I can breathe again as my heart expands in my chest with joy that feels like it will burst out of me at any moment and dance with his. Don’t worry, it doesn’t.

I feel everything now. His soul. His reasons. And I was right- he is beautiful, and yet surprising. I grin to myself as I hold my hands to my heart and distribute the red and pink glow to his pupil one more time, a kiss to his soul before I must return to the outside world…


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