he’s always loved me with his eyes open.
maybe it’s because he saw me first. he chose me, his determined hand stripping away the façade to expose the charade of comfort masking the discomfort i call home. he saw all of that, of me, his open eyes forcing me to look as well. he unearthed the good things i had squirreled away – the beauty, the love, the wit and wisdom i often hid behind – and returned them to me, still thriving despite my attempts to shade them protectively with fear. he brought me out into the light for thorough inspection, lingering on my small details with a disproportionate amount of attention and appreciation for how i came to be. he forced me out into the open with his seeing, grounding my existence in the fractured reflection of a gleaming eye and a cheshire grin. tenderly, he stops time to push my hair back and adjust my glasses to make sure nothing impairs my vision (near or far).
he’s always loved me with his eyes open, seeing me more clearly than most... even from afar.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment