Replay.

His eyes were hazel.

His dreads? Long. Perfectly twisted and a perfect compliment to brown sugar skin that we wore radiantly amongst other things. I swear my eyes watered, or was it my mouth? Or was it...
1st impressions!!! 1st impressions are always the most important right? Those are the memories that last the longest right? Or are they the inception to the stories we remember whenever looking back? I must be confused because when reflecting, I think back on this man's eyes, his dreads, his skin, his cologne, his immediate need for my innermost intimacies,the imbalance between us, the gap between his teeth, and the way he always forgot to put the toilet seat back down. His back. Naked and clothed. I began to see the most.

I remember the radiance in those eyes, that first time. The stories I imagined would be created between him and I. You know, sans the lonely nights, the forgetfulness, the hitting...yes the hitting...in various spots.

Why was I here and he? somewhere with those eyes. His and mine. Because he took those too from the very first time.