The color of the eyes in my family varies from person to person. My father and I stand out here. His eyes are a hazy green, like looking at a distant hill, blanketed in fog. But the hill has a tree on it, where a brown blotch fights its way into the green. While my eyes are the only blue in the family. Here I see the waves of the ocean, switching between light and dark, and the beach is covered in sapphire, deeper than all the waves.

All of my siblings have brown eyes, but even those are different. My brother has eyes like the wet wood of an oak tree, definitely darker than they should be, and with a little glaze. My first sister’s eyes swim with mocha and cream, never deciding where to be dark and where to be light. But my youngest sister has eyes like my mom, deep and dark, like a doe’s. The longer you look, the deeper you drown, going down, down, down.