In the morning your eyes pink from sleep gaze at me. Your long curly eyelashes surround a mystery – hazel windows to your soul. There is substance there, in your eyes – a depth I want to explore. You lean over for a kiss I’m hesitant to give. Morning breath, I explain. You don’t care. Your thin lips feel surprisingly full and soft on my mouth. They turn down at the corners – forever locked in sadness. On the night table stands a photograph of you as a boy. “This is the boy who will grow up to be the man I love,” I think. Your eyes so bright and…