This is a monologue I wrote in my creative writing class yesterday. Unedited, raw and in fifteen minutes flat. Yep! you got it, don’t judge

I cannot quite tell the colour of her eyes. I see green, tiny patches of soft china blue, green, more green and a smidge of yellow.

Eyelashes curled and tinted, defined! I could stare endlessly, lost in the iris… the pupil… the visible part of her retina. Back onto her eyelashes… focussing one by one… there! That one had missed the mascara and the one after blobbed together with a few. Should I tell her? Should I let her know?

My focus gradually shifted to the outer part of her eye — the circumference, which seemed to resemble a cycling ring — oblong and eye shaped. The tracks yellow and pink and a touch of flesh colour. I was on track three. Racing, panting, sweating, pumping every bit of adrenaline into the pedals of my bicycle. The wind cutting through the sides of my torso. I was close to lead. There was a lot of noise and cheer in the background. I won the race. Exhausted. Totally spent!

I pulled up the bottle of chilled pink champagne and poped it open. The cheer deafening. It disturbed her. She blinked in slow motion. I smiled in adoration of her jubilant green eyes.

Yes there was green, tiny patches of soft china blue, green, more green and a smidge of yellow.