Through Her Eyes

In the car she rests her hand on my knee and that's when I realize I missed a hair shaving, but she simply smiles and apologizes for being so forward.

In her bed I turn away from her, hiding my shining eyes from hers that'll peer right into my soul, as she does. Her arm wraps over my body and tugs me into her folds, keeping me warm and safe. A soft pair of lips come to rest just under my earlobe, whispering a small, Are you all right?


I am not by any means all right but I say I'm fine and she strokes the hair back behind my ear to let me know she doesn't believe me.

I let myself drift into a dreamless sleep, punctuated by the occasional shift of position, after which her arms find me again and I find myself tangled up in her sheets and throws of affection. As I wake up for the twentieth time since she yelled out her window at some stranger banging cans, I notice her eyes focused on me, and the thought occurs to me that maybe she honestly does care.

You're so beautiful, she tells me. I wish you could see what I see.


I have never before met a girl who was so quick to accept how I stiffen up when a hand is laid on me, due to the not-so innocent hands that have graced me in the past. She smiled sadly and told me she could see I was scared, but hoped she wasn't the one scaring me. If words could express my gratitude when she only held me... I wish I could see what she sees as well.