My intense gaze came back to my own reflection and shook the slight dampness of nostalgia from my eyes. I love my eyes. Big, expressive, artist eyes — dark with flecks of purple, like irises, a dark indigo purple. Dad said that’s why he and mom picked my name.
When they saw my eyes, they reminded Mom of her favorite painting by Vincent Van Gogh — Irises. All these deep purplish blue flowers, so intense.
For my dad, my name was always about the eyes, not the rainbow. He would always ask, “Well, my girl, what new thing did you see today? You’ll only ever see it that way once.” I felt a moment missing my dad.
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