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She had a look in her eyes; soft, yet somehow wistful. Cool blue uncertainty, melding with something else I couldn’t quite place – something vaguely familiar, though perhaps imagined, as it had faded quicker than an exhalation.
They say that the eyes are a window to one’s own soul, and I do not disagree. They also act as mirrors, however, catching and reflecting back  that which hides behind our own eyes – that which we often do not notice, and cannot explain for ourselves.

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