Her eyes grow. Her eyes grow as they watch the sun rise in the east and sun set in the west. Her eyes grow on every right, or wrong, decision I make. Her eyes gleam with the sparkle of a turquoise stone, enchanting her lashes until they are struck black with faint remorse. Her eyes shift from troubled to sympathetic as I pour my problems into them. They take a sip, and I am brought back to serenity.
Her eyes love with an unconditional love. They seek out my troubles and wish to please me no matter the hardship it brings. They grant stories of love and rejoice when I'm needing it most; they give wisdom of experiences still yet to be written. As slivers of wit seep into the soft ember sparks captured by the sea, they bring years of emotions worn better than I.
I am not the judge of her eyes. I have not seen where they have been. I have not experienced their distinctions of right and wrong. I have never been more completely intrigued but so completely oblivious; that these eyes I see, blue like the sea, stand before me, welcoming me to listen. It is up to my eyes to retrieve what my mother has seen. It is up to me to watch the sun rise in the east and sun set in the west.