And as the morning sun drenched the room through the slits in the thick curtains, I saw his glacier blue eyes smiling at mine through gray.

"You have beautiful eyes," I said, smiling, hiding my discomfort.

"So do you", he referred to my plain, dark eyes. And it was the first time I let anyone in.

The memories are still here, and vivid and I just hope--because there's still that small ebb--that things cannot just end like that. This was when I was 17 and he 20 and our souls the floating, pure clouds.

I hope that the sun will return, and upon returning will bring him--what he used to be.

I fell in love with the boy with glacier-blue eyes who smiled for no good reason and who sang aloud. And he was the one who would dream with me and who understood and lived the breathlessness and desperation of moments--2 a.m. sobs and epiphanies and ghosts...

Things end in a paradise of white skies and leaves sighing aqua tears; and I cannot that that off me: the belief that things do end that way, one day, if I still hope for it. If you're still brave enough to smile and audacious enough to laugh.

These memories become the sunset I once loved at the ocean's edge, on the eve of my childhood's end, and I hope--even against hope--that they'll lead me somewhere.

Because that is what completes me--what drives my sighs and tears and smiles. The foundation of my hopes and soul and dreams and of moments at twilight.

I spent last night crying, smiling and figuring out ways to capture every moment of my teenage years that are now coming to a close. From beginning to end, it's been nothing but love and heartbreak, and I don't think I would have accepted it any other way.

I sit here, looking at pictures my father and I took of the marina: the sun against rocks and boats. I captured beauty because I had an eye for it that afternoon.

aeka at 9:45 a.m.