Many people say that I have pretty eyes. Like it’s a simple thing, like beauty is only what lives on the surface.

They tell me how they sparkle, how they shift in the light, changing shades like they’re playing a game- grey to brilliant blue, soft to storm- as if my eyes were made only for wonder.

But if they looked closer, not just at them, but into them, they might hesitate before calling them pretty.

Because these eyes have carried too much.

They have held onto moments that should have slipped away, scenes that replay in quiet hours when the world finally softens its noise.

There are things reflected here that no light can soften, memories that cling to the edges no matter how brightly I try to look forward.

If they knew what lived behind the color, behind the shine, the weight of it, the quiet ache of remembering, they might choose a different word.

Not pretty.

Maybe heavy. Maybe tired. Maybe something closer to the truth.

Because eyes don’t just sparkle; they witness. They absorb. They remember.

And mine… mine have seen things I would trade anything to forget.

Still, they look at me and smile, captivated by the way the light dances; never realizing that what they’re admiring isn’t just beauty... but survival.

It’s crazy, isn’t it? How much a pair of eyes can hold without ever speaking a word.

You can see the storms someone survived, the nights they didn’t sleep, the moments they wish would fade but never quite do.

Eyes don’t know how to lie very well, even if the rest of the body does. They flicker, hesitate, soften when something hurts, harden when something broke them. You can catch glimpses of laughter still hiding in the corners, or sadness that lingers no matter how wide the smile is.

It’s like looking through a window that was never meant to be opened, but somehow, for a second, you’re let inside.

And in that moment, you don’t just see a person; you see their story.

Time.

Time is a funny thing. A beautiful thing. A scary thing. It wears a thousand faces, yet it doesn't appear as any of them.

Time is consistent. Faithful. It walks with you, is always by your side. Time is friends with the sun and the moon.

It never stops or slows down. Never waits for you to catch your breath.

It's also controlling. Whether you notice it or not, it is controlling you.

Everything you do revolves around time. What time you have to work, what time you have to go to school, what time you go to bed and wake up, what time you have a meeting.

Your life basically becomes an endless series of numbers. Repeating over and over and over. 7:00, 12:30, 5:45.

Did you know that "What time is it?" is the most frequently asked question? We ask it like, if we know the answer, we will gain control.

But we won't. Time isn't something that is controlled; time only controls.

Time is evil. Once it has you in its grasp, it will never let you go.

Time is sneaky. It can slip by you, unnoticed. Blink and hours will have flown by. Blink again, and something you loved has become something you miss.

That's the trick of time. Time doesn't need to rush to take something from you. It just keeps going. Steady.