Skyes
I once thought her eyes changed to match the sky. It was only now that I realized the sky changed to match her eyes. On good days, the sky would be the clearest, most brilliant blue, and her laughter would ring out, just as clearly as the sky. Some days, when she couldn't stop the depression, the depression that came from being so hand in hand with death all the time, from creeping in, the sky would be overcast and gray, and her eyes would be just as clouded. The wind would blow with a harsh, bitter edge. On even worse days, the days she couldn't save others and I couldn't save her from herself and her eyes were dark as night, a torrent would pour out of the sky. Each day, when I climbed out of bed and looked out my window, I would see what kind of day those eyes, those beautiful eyes, would bring.