What does your soul looks like?
It is said that eyes are reflection of the soul. If my soul would look like my eyes then I’m a melancholic soul—a soul that feeds on sadness.
She was happy but not for long. She learned to open her eyes thenceforth life dimmed her to the glory of obscurity. Blinded by the thought that she’s a mediocre; not a faint of courage within her. Happy things became her heavy sorrows, she lost gaiety. She was sincere and dull; she was dark and hoped she could say beautiful but she was unlovely, a little evil though she keeps it for herself. She’ll never tell you but she falls in love too easily, too deeply. Maybe it’s all that suppressed incandescence. When the numbness is shattered, she grows into a passionate flame, blazing of life. Tell her she’s the moon in your sky, the poetry of your eyes and she’ll be everything she is not.
This is an old journal entry. If I have to answer the question now, I would say a lot has change since then.