Our Father

I saw him today. His face looks ashen and drawn. Our eyes met often in conversation, and once from across the room as he looked up at me, hearing my laugh. His eyes haven't changed. They are still big and dark and powerful. All-knowing. I have spent my life encapsulated by them. What do you look for in the eyes of someone so revered? What do you find? For me, it has always been approval. Even after living half a century, I look for that in his gaze. Today, I found it. Despite battles with quiet fear, it rests comfortably, triumphant, behind the panes of his soul's window.