Cinnamon Eye

“There’s cinnamon in there…sparkles and cinnamon.” M laughed.

I rolled over onto the New York Times Sunday edition spread out on the floor.   The sun was streaming in and M was staring at me with a look of wonder.

“Your eyes are dusted with cinnamon and sparkles.”

“Really?”  I fumbled for my glasses.  I couldn’t see further than a foot without them.  The room was dark compared to the sunlight stream I had been laying in.

I never liked my eyes.  I always felt they were strange, weird, foreign.  Growing up as the alien in a suburban neighborhood who had never seen anyone like me made me feel like a freak.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

“Uh, no one’s ever told me that before.”

“Well they are.”

It was a hot summer and I was unemployed.  I was filling my time with odd jobs off the books while collecting unemployment.  I was also just embarking on a new journey as an actor.  A world where knowing oneself, and truly becoming comfortable with myself was the key to success.  And yet, I had still never really accepted my own looks.  It was terrifying, and difficult.  It was like I was doing everything to not be me.  I had long hair down to my waist, I wore skull rings on all ten of my fingers, a black leather motorcycle jacket – to look fiercer and not weak.  My music was all aggressive heavy metal.

But I wasn’t really this either. Inside I was all soft.  I was curious, full of wonder, yearning to learn who I really was.  I loved to laugh and even though my outside was like a porcupine with quills up, I was really desperate to be liked…or, gulp, loved.

“You are eyes are the best.  Lay down in the sun again and let me look some more.” M giggled as she laid across my chest to gaze into my eyes.  I could hardly see her as the sun was so bright.  She kissed me in succession of gentle, soft lip prints in a line from my forehead down to my lips.

I thought to myself, “One day, I’m going to marry this girl.”

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