I stare into your eyes.
Blue eyes.
Blue.
It's a nice color, I admit, but it's the wrong one.
It's okay, though. I don't mind.
Your hair, too. It's blonde. A shimmering, golden color that flickers every time you move your head to look at me. I reach out and curl my fingers into the soft locks, and you smile.
Smile with your blue eyes and blonde hair.
My grip tightens.
You wince, and I let go.
I look at you and try to push away thoughts of steely grey eyes and dark hair, rare smiles that flit like a cautious doe, coming and going just as easily. Days of crunching footsteps that flattens new grass, colorful wildflowers, blazing leaves, and eventually, pure, untouched snow.
Something you and your blue eyes wouldn't know, wouldn't ever remember.