This Is What I See In You


It was late. The world was falling asleep. The city was switching on its golden lights and all I could hear was the traffic outside, the TV of my first floor neighbours playing a little too loudly, a siren – or two maybe – and suddenly, silence.

I sat on my bed, terrified at the idea that some of the most intimate words I had ever written were being read by people that I didn’t know, people that I knew, but more importantly, you.

You told me you loved the writing, that it was lovely and cute and sweet. But after some time, you wrote: “I honestly don’t know what you see in me,” followed by the face with tears of laughing too much emoticon, almost as if you didn’t believe any of it.

It was late, the day had been long and it was a message lost in the sea of the thousands of other messages we’d shared.

And a message is too quick, too easily lost, and too short to contain everything I wanted to say to answer your question.

But I have some more time now. Some hours of a sleepless night to kill. Some more space too.

And a blank page I could fill endlessly.

What I see in you is not complicated or secret or big. It’s simple and easy and beautiful. It’s the little things, the times that have come and gone. It’s right in front of me. It’s in you.

And it shines through.

What I see in you is your talent – your ability to see and capture all of the things people would usually pass by and ignore. It is your passion for life and your crazy wonderful dreams. It is a boiling energy and your eyes lighting up when you talk about something that drives you, something you love – even if that something gets hard sometimes.

What I see in you is kindness and generosity.

It is all of the times you pay the check for everyone, all of the times you want to help all of the people in need, and all of the times you’re here for your friends. It is your beautiful and sensitive heart, which melts in front of kitties and puppies playing silly and sweet, and gets sick watching people starving, drowning, dying, crying and hoping for better days.

It is your caring soul – the way you’d come closer, probably to make me feel less alone and disoriented, when I am getting lost in the unending hubbub of a crowd and losing track of everything around me.

What I see in you is your warm smile that speaks more than a million words.

It is the crazy laughter, but also the dried tears, the reassuring arms and the comforted sorrows. It is all of the new dreams – the promises of hope and tomorrows.

What I see in you is poetry.

I see a perfectly imperfect and beautifully flawed human being – a speck of dust in the universe, made of some of the same atoms and molecules as the stars. I see someone who has no idea how special he is. You tell me “you don’t know what you’re talking about.” And the truth is, you’re right. Most of the time I have no idea what I’m talking about.

I may not know, but I do feel.

And maybe you’ll say I’m a fool to think – or rather feel – that you are amazing, because you probably won’t seem so to everyone, but here’s the thing, you are to me.

What I see in you is someone I can talk to openly, honestly and fearlessly, about my greatest achievements, the ones I’m the most proud of, and about my best-hidden secrets, those I have never told anyone of before because no one happened to be quite like you.

You’re here. Always.

In the little things, the details, the small moments. It is the minuscule words you say and things you do, and the ones you don’t say and the ones you don’t do. It’s you just knowing, without me needing to tell you what’s up.

What I see in you is the eye contact held for a second longer, the delicate push of your chest against mine, of your hands on my back, holding me tight and making me feel home.

When we met, I had no idea you were going to be this important to me today. But here you are, beautiful heart, reassuring arms and caring soul.

Here you are, standing on your two feet and offering me a home.

A home.

This is what I see in you. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

A 20-something Frenchie, who left her heart in London. Tea-drinker, art lover, and author of Photographs.

Keep up with Marie on

More From Thought Catalog