There was a quiet crimson glow radiating from her dark eyes.

Yet, it was not the red crimson of fire. In fact, it was a crimson that had no color. It was more of a crimson feeling.

And the depth of these eyes defied beauty, went above it, beyond it. This crimson glow was more like... understanding.

Not the understanding of condescension ... It was the sharing of innumerable days of solitude and dignity, all the rivers and the all the lights in the world seen through two sets of different eyes and souls.

Crimson it glowed and opaqued, and crimson it burned and soothed... Crimson were the warm embers of their insides, and crimson was the roof of her house when the sunset spilled out.

Then came silence. Of course... A crimson one.

She looked through and past him with her dark eyes... And suddenly he realized that everything in the world was perception, and what was laid before him was as ephemeral as perfume.... Withering away in tales of suns and skies... Crimson in color amidst the vanishing birds of feeling.