Eyes, longing to end the disappointment I have in them, peek through tight and thickened eyelids. I squint. My eyes tear in embarrassment when they can’t fulfill their purpose to me. And these tears are their apology. My eyes. They are friendly eyes.

Not an eye in my family can see all they want. My dad’s eyes are incapable of reading a book. My mom’s eyes can’t read the billboards as they fly past them. In this respect, my sisters have my father’s eyes. I have my mother’s. Like opaque glass, our eyes show us the world around us in a cloudy sense. The things we see up close can only faintly describe what we can’t see far away.

They are friendly eyes. Somehow, always able to cheer me up with the smudged photograph that is the world. They apologize. And I accept.