I see you, in flashes between your words and in the moments that you don't think are important. I can see the furrow of your brow, the light in your eyes, and your lips parting to issue that adorable lilt that creeps into your voice when you're sleepy.

And I think they're beautiful, just like you. Not gorgeous - that has a certain statuesque coldness to it - nor pretty, with its too-simple flutter of the tongue that just doesn't do you justice. All those moments, frozen like stars in the constellation of you and embedded in my memory like seeds that make my heart grow.

My eyes glitter when I think of you, like silver sparkling in brown. Maybe they don't, really, but it feels like it, and smiling comes a little easier when you're around.

I wish you could see through those eyes; I really do. I wish you could watch yourself, hear your words, read the little letters that light up my night when I'm drifting off, or feel the beat of my heart picking up when you're around.

When you say you're not anything, that beat only quickens, the desperate need welling up to make you see, to tell you that you are cute, or clever, or sexy, or, yeah... beautiful.

So let me show you, love? Let me help you feel, with my hands ghosting across the curves of your skin, my eyes fixed on yours. Let me fill you with warmth, for you, my body in yours and the liquid heat of how I feel spreading through you. Until it fills you; until it reaches your heart.

Please, love.

Let me help you see yourself with my eyes.