On this fateful day of October, two years ago, when you lazily turned your head and accidentally met my gaze, I had a realization: the worst thing about you was your eyes. 

You had carefully mastered the art of intimidating every human being by casting them dead stares. You were so good at it that sometimes, when you were feeling detached from this world, you would throw them sharp glares to stop them from bothering you. On days when you were just spacing out, your eyes would be glossy, making you look almost unbreakable. 

In all honesty though, I'd like to say that perhaps, the best thing about you was also your eyes and the way they would shine whenever they landed on anything that piqued your curiosity; or how they would disappear into a thin line whenever you heard something that was too funny for your humor.

I found them endearing each time you were emersed with a conversation and they would just stare so deep they could bore holes to the other's  existence. 

On quiet instances when your only role was to listen, your eyes would turn dark, honest, and accepting. And when you were the most confident version of you, they twinkled so iridescent they could probably outshine the glowing celestial bodies in the night sky

Oddly, I've developed a weird habit that when I stand amidst a huge crowd, my eyes would automatically search for yours... Hoping that in the sea of those strangers, I'd find you again. 

Just like that fateful day of October, two years ago, when you lazily turned your head, accidentally met my gaze, and everything was never the same.