My father, sister, and brother all share eyes as blue as the Pacific. All shaded, shy, and sleepy. Their eyes work as well as a beatdown car, so affixed upon their noses, are spectacles specially chosen to their liking. Eyes light blue, like a peeking sky in the morning sunrise.
But my mother's eyes, like melted chocolate chips in freshly baked cookies, stand out from the sea of blue. Her eyes roar, with the deepest brown, darting at you, like a rush of wind. As brown as the soil after a heavy shower of blue.
My eyes, like my mother’s, are astray from the sea of blue. My eyes are the green that peeps on the trees, preparing for spring. My eyes are the green that bewitches anyone who gazes upon them, the sharp green that is sparkling on the emerald ring bearing my mother's finger. The emerald in my eyes is accented by speckles of gold, like the glaring, glowing sun shining on the bridge of your nose on a hot summer day. The accent of gold so rich, fiery, and exotic, it the only thing thats lets me loom from my family. My green eyes are my wild card, I’m the 2% who received the emerald pigmentation with a golden tint.