When Allister lost his dream, he would search for it in the eyes of others-as if he could find it there. It was the deep gazes that intrigued him most, the ones that dipped in and seemed like they could go on forever. Seemed like, through those orbs, one could touch the Earth's center. Or one could touch the beginning of heaven. And perhaps one could touch both at the same time. In those eyes he would swim, lost in a sea of rods and cones.
Allister would walk along the street, his boots kicking stones, his eyes searching for a knowing glance, the kind resting in a knowing face, where the wrinkles tell a story equal in eagerness and sadness. The eagerness coming from the desire to know more, the sadness coming from the knowledge of knowing so little about how to know more. These gazes tended to hide beneath woolen caps, tended to duck behind heavy eyelids, as if the constant philosophical tugging had worn away the youth.
But, there was something wise, there was something subversive, in the smirk that twitched at their lips. In their deep wells rested the youthful fountains, deep and pure. And though there was a danger in searching too long, too hard; one could after all come too close to the answer-just as one swimming in another's eyes could find the eyelids shutting, trapping you, leaving you pressing from the inside of the jelly glass to get out; there was something magical in it, too, in the small sparks found in the eyes and the wrinkles and footprints of dreamers.
Allister would walk along the street, his boots kicking stones, his eyes searching for a knowing glance, the kind resting in a knowing face, where the wrinkles tell a story equal in eagerness and sadness. The eagerness coming from the desire to know more, the sadness coming from the knowledge of knowing so little about how to know more. These gazes tended to hide beneath woolen caps, tended to duck behind heavy eyelids, as if the constant philosophical tugging had worn away the youth.
But, there was something wise, there was something subversive, in the smirk that twitched at their lips. In their deep wells rested the youthful fountains, deep and pure. And though there was a danger in searching too long, too hard; one could after all come too close to the answer-just as one swimming in another's eyes could find the eyelids shutting, trapping you, leaving you pressing from the inside of the jelly glass to get out; there was something magical in it, too, in the small sparks found in the eyes and the wrinkles and footprints of dreamers.
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