Blue Eyes

I am really anyone? I am so many people to so many people and so much of one thing to another. I am lies and truth as they mingle together, dancing the polka. I am the snow that falls over little children's ice cream, the tongue that licks it up. I am myself and someone else, someone better. In your eyes, am I beautiful? Does that even matter? What is beauty but a distraction from intellegence, a counter to thought? Maybe it is the only important thing. Sight as master and contemplation its slave. My eyes are blue and at least that is one infallible thing about me.