You're art

She asked me if she's pretty in my eyes. I simply said yes, you are. She looked at me with uncertainty, and said, tell me the truth. Then it was my turn to look at her with uncertainty, I fear she can't handle my words, or if my words can handle my thoughts.

You look average, you're just like any other person among the crowd that would blend in within the sounds of inaudible chattering, beeping of impatient cars, and growls of a noisy motorcycle.

Until I take a closer look, until I listen to your words that shows me how you think, have your presence to accompany me. 

When I started wearing those rose tinted glasses, I romanticized every flaw, every habit, good or bad. Whether it be how silky and thin your hair is, or if it's fluffy like a cloud. A petite bod that I can carry and hold securely in my arms, a plump figure that gives me more to love. Freckles dusted all over you like stars up in the sky, acne like seeds on a freshly picked strawberry, a birthmark, a wonderful symbol engraved on your skin. Scars I admire you have healed through, rough hands that signifies hard work. A flattened nose, a big one, a pointed one, they all look the same to me.

I adore your every form love

Everyone is beautiful in their own right, the thing that separates you from the rest, is the fact that you are you. I'de say you're the most beautiful person I lay my eyes upon, even if you take various forms as we grow and mature. As Long as you still have that same demeanor, beliefs, and morals, I'de know it's you. 

If that changes as well, I wish as we both change into a new person, those two different people would still fall for each other. That different person I'll inevitably become, would still be in awe by you.

I look at you, and you'd evoke all these feelings within me. What wonder it is, the fact I could've easily just walked right past you and continue my journey in life.

It would have been the greatest mistake of my life. 

In a museum where I was the only one standing in front of you, those wise choices of color pallette, the urge to unravel what it is you're hiding behind the thick acrylic paint, what's the motive behind those soft strokes of the brush, what message is this painting trying to tell me?

I ponder at the thoughts that circle within my cramped up skull, banging, pounding. A headache it was, practically begging

to be said. Maybe if I open my mouth something will come out, but alas my voice failed me, staring at her for uncomfortably too long now, eventually I muttered.

You look like art dear.