Delicate things are pretty - cute, even,
but you are not delicate.
You are wild and lewd and unpredictable.
You are breathtaking.
You are beautiful.
You would think, with the eyes, I might have a better idea of where I am going than most. Of course, I hadn't really been paying attention. Perhaps it had been the heat making me slumberous, perhaps the lack of any true problems or considerations. Whatever the case, even with my expanded sight, I had managed one of the worst social faux pas.
How embarrassing.
It isn't until now that I truly notice him. Notice the way he tucks into himself, the way he strains for control. The way he bites back the angry, frustrated snarl the comes to his lips almost without thought. Had I been less brave, less outgoing, more sensible, I might have shrunk from him. Probably should have.
But I don't, I can't. You see, despite all my other foibles and vanities, I have a tender heart. And a single sight of him causes it to squeeze in my chest. Not pity, per se. More like regret.
I consider him for a long moment before a soft, apologetic smile curves my lips. “It's not, but thank you for being kind.”
My gaze shifts then, landing on the scarred, missing eye. With a gently teasing, self deprecating edge, I add, “I'd give you mine, if I could. I wouldn't miss one too much.” I pause for a moment, debating, before giving up all sense of decorum and asking “What happened?”
Giohde