I Contact Eyes

I stare into the eyes of despair, hopelessness, despondency, and defeatism. Eight eyes, four pairs, searching my face for the things they lack: love, hope, safety, security. I look at them; they look even deeper back at me. Their dead stare penetrates my soul. An almost solemn still settles among us all. The silent is unsettling, and my eyes shift between the eight. All eight eyes keep on staring, as if too exhausted to do much else. There is almost a comfort in their sorrow, as if it is all they know, and they know it well.

The four older eyes stare with a tired, worn gaze. Those eyes have seen more than most ever will. They have looked upon a world with no mercy for the unfortunate. They have met the eyes of others, more fortunate, with no time to spare. They have been ignored and embarrassed and unknown. Those four eyes have seen the side of the world that most others try to hide. The four old eyes have been looking for a long time, never seeing what they hoped to see; yet they are unwilling to blink, unwilling to close. Bloodshot and sore, they stay open to give strength to the younger four eyes beside them.

The younger four eyes look on with a different type of desperation, mingled with restrained hope and confusion. Already they have seen too much they cannot understand. They have not been sheltered from the difficult side of life like many eyes their age. They have watched as those other eyes their age have looked upon plates of food and school textbooks and shiny toys…and then looked upon their own empty plates, ratty books and used toys. They have looked into their parents’ eyes and seen the weight of the world cried out in heavy tears.

Those eight eyes burn through my skull and imprint their stories and endless sad tales into my brain in a way that I am sure will haunt me forever. Their intensity shakes me to my core and forces me to search my memories for times when I have met similar eyes. How did I respond? Did I show those eyes things they had never seen? Did I show them love, kindness, respect, help, time, or care? Or did I simply avert my eyes from theirs, fitting in perfectly with the parade of strange eyes that pass them by every day without a second glance?

I look back into those eight slate eyes. It’s hard to hold the gaze. I realize now what they are looking for: a change, a difference, a foreign tendency. I struggle not to look away as my head pulls to the side. I know I’m not worthy of meeting those eyes, but am unwilling to give up yet. I realize that above all else, they don’t need money or food. They need my eyes to meet theirs and feed them something else. So, I force the eye contact they desire and give them all I have. I do my best to show them all the things they have been missing…

Is it enough? I could never give enough. Those eight eyes have given me more than I could ever give them. Although they look on wearily, there is a secret strength that hides in the cores of their pupils, and I have drawn from that strength. I now know I can face the other eyes of the world that look on in the same fashion. I now know that I won’t blink them away, but hold their gaze and give them the love that they deserve, but don’t know. Today I have made eye contact with eight, seemingly unimportant eyes, but in doing so; I have met the eyes of Jesus.

Magnets Speak Louder Than Words

delete dream weak
trip picture
language manipulate
want ache frantic
show delirious
have balance
summer
sad repulsive raw
gift music
sleep together
storm
want one
pink she
erupt who me
think behind
bed play eat