Your eyes, yes, those blue ones, are a menace. They are too blue. I demand an explanation. When I looked into them, my memory of the English alphabet collapsed. The letter E ran away screaming. A goose outside my window began humming Glory Halleluiah, and my neighbor accused me of harboring abstract thoughts again. I tried describing your eyes to a cup of tea, and it boiled itself out of spite.

One could say your eyes are the color of cornflowers, but that would insult the cornflowers, who’ve never had to bear such gravitational responsibility. Your eyes seem to operate on a private logic: when they blink, time skips. When they stare, socks vanish from drawers. I looked at them too long and forgot how to exit a room, so I just stood still until Tuesday happened again.

Frankly, I suspect your eyes are involved in some sort of celestial conspiracy.
If I ever see them again, I will bring protective goggles and a long stick, just in case they try to hypnotize the furniture.

Anyway, they're beautiful. In a dangerous, probably-illegal way.