She held a brocade dress in her hands, absorbed in working on it.
Her back was bent. Her arched eyebrows had drooped. A diamond nose pin still adorned her straight nose, though its brilliance had faded. The face upon which a rosy flush had once danced had darkened in the heat of a world of doubt and deception. The soft, curving lines that had defined her beauty had turned into unlovely wrinkles. The shapely contours of her body had faded. Silver had descended into her fragrant black hair.
Hearing my footsteps, she raised her eyes.
In those dreamy eyes there was a faint longing, the playfulness of a singer, and the reflection of countless unfinished dreams.
Seeing those hopeful eyes amid her decline and exhaustion, I needed no more than an instant to understand…
Eyes never grow old.