Hazel Eyes…

M. belongs to G. in a way some people belong naturally to certain climates. I noticed it again this weekend.

The sea makes sense around him.
The wind makes sense.
Even silence feels different near him.

He’s blond in that dark autumn way where sunlight still survives slightly in the hair, and his eyes change constantly between green, hazel, and almost gold depending on weather and mood. Very unfair honestly. He loves sailing with the kind of seriousness boys usually reserve for religion or football clubs. Although in his case there’s also Sampdoria, so maybe emotionally it’s the same thing. Sometimes he explains boats to me for twenty minutes and I understand absolutely nothing except that he becomes calmer while talking about wind…

Which maybe is enough.

We walked near the harbor Sunday evening while he smoked and argued about Sampdoria’s defense like national security depended on it. Then suddenly he stopped talking completely because the sea had become perfectly still.

That’s something I like about him.
He understands quiet properly.

In M. everything feels accelerated. Voices, schedules, ambition, trains, appearances. But with him time stretches strangely…

Not slower exactly.
Just less aggressive.

I missed him today unexpectedly while sitting in mathematics looking at rain on the classroom windows.

Distance is stupid because nothing actually happens and yet your entire mood changes anyway.

SAILING.
Remember me,
Eclipse