Deceiver

I never could quite distinguish the color of his eyes; they were deep-set and small, almost beady, and the light was always either too dim or too bright to allow for such details to be noticed. I should have known then not to trust such eyes. He was always winking too, as though he had a secret he wanted to tell me. Looking back, it's almost as though he couldn't bear to meet my gaze directly. I could not tell what color his eyes were, but I can't forget the glint of shame in them. I sorely wish I could.