I love you a lot. But maybe, I wish I didn’t.
I told myself that I would never fall for a friend but when I saw you, you just smiled a mysterious smile like the Mona Lisa. And I thought to myself: “What a wonderful work of art.”
Your smile always seemed to beam the brightest, all eyes were on you as soon as you walked into the room; or at least, mine were. Looking at you was like viewing paintings in a museum, you take your time. And you love every detail.
Your laugh, oh god that laugh, it was as if I was hearing Mozart for the first time. Your laugh is my favorite sound, sweet and addicting.
Your eyes, one look at them and that’s when I realized that you turned a color so dull— into something so beautiful.
The way you touch your lips when you’re thinking. It’s the little things that I find the most intriguing about you. Every damn thing.
I looked at you once again and took everything in and with a smile, I whispered: “You truly are a work of art.”
But like all artwork, all I could do is admire from afar. I was not aware of the baggage you came with, the invisible neon sign saying, “Look but can’t touch.” That didn’t bother me anyways, someone as clumsy as me shouldn’t hold something so precious, something so delicate.
But damn, the longer I stared, the more I fell in love. The longer I stared, I began to notice details I haven’t seen before like the freckles on your cheek or how your upper lip slightly disappears when you smile. The longer I stared, I find more and more reasons to stay and stick around. I began to see more reasons to say that you’re so beautiful, so unique, so special. So, you.
But, I was so busy daydreaming about you that I barely noticed that other people are admiring you as well. Then it hit me, you just want attention. You didn’t want it exclusively from me, you wanted it from everybody or anybody. In short, I was too busy trying to be yours to notice that I wasn’t the only one. I was too busy having this some fucked up vision of you and me, but you– you. I never got a chance with you, did I?
Under that confident faćade you put up, I see the real you. A person who just wants to be held. You were always the strong and stable person of the group. You were the life of the party. You were the person who wanted to reach out and help everybody. But little do they know that you cry yourself to sleep every night. Little do they know that you needed them as much as they needed you.
I see it in your eyes— you’re insecure. You only think that you are beautiful when people say you are. You equate your self-worth to what people think of you. And even when you hear all the good things everyone says about you, you don’t believe a single thing. You never see what we see.
Just like any other artwork, they don’t know their value until someone points it out. But to me, when the lights go off, and everyone goes home, an artwork is still what it is: beautiful.