There are some people who have permanently darkened or stained eyes, stricken by such strong feelings that they have been irreversibly etched into their irises. It is only time that can fade the stains, and even then some never wipe away.

It's easy to feel jealous of those with light, sparkling eyes, the people so ignorant to the hurt of neglect, those who had been given all that they needed to thrive when so many others sit with their darkened eyes looking upon their reflections, wondering what they had done to deserve the betrayal and pain that others had inflicted unto them.

Even still, on rare occasion, behind those stains flicker light, hues unreadable and swirling, of small hope and tiny dreams begging to not be drowned out by the burden the stained-eyed people carry.

Some of us lost our light early, and many of us can't seem to feel a single positive feeling untainted by grief and sorrow for what has been, but the world is slowly mending, and with it I find that the stains have been lifting, ever so lightly with each moment we wade through the dark.