When I first met you

I was drawn to your eyes.

I couldn't tell the colour of the irises

But they were filled with secrets

Leaking, pooling

Into the dark circles underneath.

You dipped a quill

Into those endless voids.

I touched the tip to a dry leaf

And heard voices long forgotten,

Saw places nowhere to be found.

I have no name for this experience.

A winged creature crooned melodies

Found in no song

In a tongue no one speaks.

Sparkling droplets rained on its wings,

Melting the strange angel into nothingness.

My own tears had washed it away.

The ink ran out.

It was your story,

But I had lived it.

Your dark circles were gone.

Giving me the quill, you said,

"Now write your own."