Why is it that when writing anything even remotely romantic or intimate, we automatically focus on the eyes? We want to fall into them, to describe them as liquid, as molten, as dancing in the light. Eyes are flecked with gold, the color of a stormy sea, blue as a Texas sky.
Always, always the eyes.
I find this an interesting turn. For instance, I often think about my husband's eyes. They are the most brilliant shade of hazel. The outer iris is this beautiful green-blue, the center a warm golden brown. They change color with the light, from brilliantly emerald to nearly sea foam-blue. He has laugh lines around them and long blonde lashes. Its safe to say that I find his eyes romantic.
When writing, I always describe the eyes. Maybe not the shape of a brow or the length of a nose. Perhaps I don't spend time waxing poetic on the line of a jaw or the length of hair. I will always, always tell you about the character's eyes.
It fascinates me that writers do this. I suppose artists of all kinds are guilty of the same. We all find something special in the eyes. If we're talking about the eyes of someone we love, even in a platonic sense, we get poetic with it.
Another example, my best friend. She has the bluest, softest eyes on earth. They are vivid and liquid and almost always have this little sassy twinkle in the corner. When I think of my best friend (She lives far, far away, so I miss her often and much), I will eventually think of her eyes.
Do we see the eyes as a window to the soul or is it merely that when we want to know we are communicating, we look into someone's eyes. I feel my most heard, my most understood when someone is talking to me and keeping that eye contact.
So, perhaps its less about romance and the color, shape, and quality of eyes. Maybe its the romantic idea of being heard, of being seen in some way.
Just a little food for thought this morning.