Her phone rang. Caller unknown.
She didn’t typically pick up calls from people she didn’t know, but something compelled her to do so tonight. She immediately regretted it.
“Minnie, it’s me. You busy? Wanna grab a drink tonight? I can swing by your place and pick you up if you want?”
“Or any night. Look, baby, I’m sorry. I fucked up. There, I said it. I. Fucked. Up. I should’ve never let you go. I miss you so much and I want you back, baby.”
Three months ago she would’ve given anything to hear those words. But that was three months ago. She learned a lot about her own self worth in that time, to understand what it meant to love someone, to miss them, but to recognize that they didn’t deserve to be in her life anymore.
“Minnie, you still there?”
“Uhh, yeah. Sorry, you were saying?”
“Do you think you can give me a second chance? I mean, we’re only human, we all make mistakes. You’re not perfect, but neither am I. I made a mistake. I’ve fessed up. So you gotta take back, babe, that’s how this works right?”
“I-I don’t know what to say…”
“Yes, say yes.”
“Before I do, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Tell me what colour my eyes are.”
“What colour are my eyes?”
“If I answer this, I’ll get you back?”
“Whether you give me the right answer.”
“There’s a wrong answer?”
“What do you think? Of course, there is.”
The colour of her eyes held the warmth of saccharine liquid gold on a frigid, winter’s eve. Their lustre rivalled that of the finest obsidian. And the way sparkled in the sunlight, like golden sapphires made them all the more beautiful. But the one thing that set her apart from all others was the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her passions; they were brighter than fireworks on the fourth of July.
To call them brown was like saying the ocean was big. It wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t right either. There were so many ways to describe her eyes that calling them brown was a huge injustice. To the world, they were just ordinary, but to a lover, they were poetry.