Descriptive Essay About My Hoodie

She watched as the shining light faded out of his burnt umber and caramel mixed eyes that once glowed with happiness, and were now completely vacant of any emotion. Nothing was there other than his dark irises which held a profound sadness that yearned for justice.

This focus on eyes alerts the reader to pay close attention not only to Hazel’s eyes and what he sees, but also what others may be seeing. Even Hazel’s name is linked to the imagery of eyes, as hazel is both a common eye color and Hazel’s vision is often “hazy” or stuck in a “haze”.

She started to see something in her eyes that was not there before.

I attempted to wiggle my fingers, the pain throbbed worse than before. "No it hurts." I whined, the pain brought tears to my eyes. My hand was swollen and badly bruised.

You're both positively gorgeous. I wish I were a modeling scout right now. I would recruit you both and give you my card and hurry you into the agency right away—oh wait, no, I am sorry. I am going off again. I just came here to apologize, but now you probably think I am more crazy, though now I’m probably just buzzing,” she chuckled to herself. “You know… I should buy myself a house here, gorgeous houses, gorgeous tall people, and faces. No! I’m getting sidetracked again,” she scolded herself, and her eyes flicked back up toward Gemma. “Excuse me, are you the owner of this

“What happened?” the doctor asked. In response, she motioned her hand back and forth. Nodding, the doctor gently examined the wound, careful to not induce additional pain.

I quickly run to her and put my hand on her back. I look her in the eyes. There blankly starring ahead at something. Searching the air in front of us, as if there was a picture there. People around us start to stare, luckily her hoodie is somehow still up.

“But I don’t understand,” I said after a moment, blood pounding in my ears. “You want to help me right?”

She realized that although at times she had loved him, she now has regained her freedom.

Brenda replies, “Honey, I’d rather not, it’s hot outside – didn’t you hear me say what I have to plan for? I still need to make the cherry cheesecake for the 4th of July party.

She lifted her head up and looked me in the eyes for the first time tonight. Her large, dark eyes captured me like a fish on a hook. Her eyes cried out pain and loneliness and seemed to see through my superficial persona.

I nod slowly, breathing deep. The pacing’s brought some sweat out—I’ll have to change this shirt—but it’s better than sitting in that chair. “Of course, doc. Send me some recommendations. Thank you for the… diagnosis. It’s very enlightening.”

Eventually, I hear Andrea call from the dining area. “Dinner is ready! And Molly, may I have a word with you?” I’m shocked when I glance at the clock to see that two hours have passed. Talking with Josie came so easily and naturally, like I was catching up with an old friend. I hug Josie goodbye and thank her for her hard work on my newly styled hairdo. To some, it may have just looked like an uneven braid, but to me and Josie, my hair resembled that of a glamorous

She moved in colour, even after she died. When everyone else was living in black and white, under grey skies, she had bright red hair and rosy cheeks. Her blue-eyed gaze still makes me feel exposed, even now. I haven't seen her for weeks, but it seems that I’m still trying to stay afloat in the ever-crashing waves that emit from her intimate glance.

Richard Rogers’ song “Favorite Things” talks about how the narrator’s favorite things make them feel better when times aren’t the best. People often have a memento from childhood that they keep throughout their life, such as a stuffed animal or a tea set. These possessions represent a memory or event from one’s life -whether it be from early on or from later in life- which in turn remind them of the feelings from the times they received it. These tokens from their early life often mean the world to them, and this is an accurate description of how I feel about my “Blankie.” My blanket is a source of comfort, every small imperfection has a memory behind it, and these impressions make the blanket unique to my life and my experiences. While most of the details that reside on my blanket are small and often remain unnoticed, each one makes it more important to me.