Funny how I always found his eyes so blue. Piercing blue. He looked at me, through me, and I felt that I could keep my head high. I was young then. I liked that he could see me.

He puts them in everyday, small sky-tinged bowls of clarity, that allow him to see the world as it is. They cover him from me, while they uncover my features. I know he can see me as sharply as I can see myself in a harsh bathroom light. I still find his eyes blue. Piercing blue. But I move my face slightly when he looks at me for too long. I know that he can see me.

The blue tinge of the watery film covering his cornea is not enough to hide the redness of my cheeks, the creases around my eyes. Only in the morning, when I get up with my face marred with pillow lines, in the light haze of the morning, I can turn to him and feel that I can show him my face. They are not in yet. The only face he sees, is the one engrained in his mind, from the first time we met, twenty-something years go. Then he goes and puts them in, and again, I shy away from his gaze. I fear that he can see me.

Funny how I always feel tempted to accidently drop them on the floor, so that he could not find them, as without them, he cannot see things clearly. What stops me, is that I would not even hear them fall. No loud crunch, not even if I stepped on them. No satisfaction.

I put my make up on every day, lines of colour on my face, under my cupid’s bow, that allow me to face the world as it is. And while doing that, I keep thinking about the rows of them godforsaken things, in the cabinet just underneath my fingertips. I could set a fire to the cabinet. They would burn, surely, despite the ninety-something percent of water in them. He would get some more from the shop in the town centre. It only takes twenty minutes to get there. Would I beat him there, and flood it?

The red tinge of a steamy halo covering the warehouse is not enough to hinder the production. Go abroad, get to the distribution centre. Stop the production, throw sand into machine cogs. From there, to the headquarters. Ensure that there are none, on the whole continent, that he could get. Go to China if I must and sort the production there too. When there is none left on the planet, check the solar system. In case aliens wanted to gift those Neptune-tinged gels to humanity, as a gesture of good will. Get them gone, before it is too late.

And when in the whole Universe there is none left, I could go back home to my blue-eyed man.