World Through Your Eyes

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Sometimes, I want to see the world through your eyes.

I want to wake up early in the morning — so early that the birds do not have the chance to prepare for a sweet, wake-up jingle — like you always do. I want to fling my eyes open and be able to see the world through yours. It doesn’t matter how long. Even a few hours would do. All I want to do is to see the universe in your perspective.

I want to see the sun rises and figure if you think it’s beautiful, like I do. I want to wait by the rooftop when it sets; to count seconds before it bids goodbye to the sky and figure if you really think it’s pointless. “Watching the sun sets wastes our time by at least half an hour.” But darling, sunsets have always been the best part of a day. I want to see it through your eyes so I know you mean what you said, although I’m sure there’s a little hint of falsity as you kissed the sky a thank you when we left.

I want to see yourself in a mirror and figure what you have in mind. I wonder if you ever notice about the scar on your left waist, or the mosquito bite behind your neck. They’re beautiful. Every one of your scars is. I wonder if you think the same.

I wonder if you think our room gets too messy at times, and I want to see it through your eyes to figure if you think it’s my fault. You’re a man of no words. You merely look through the place, make a knowing face, and fall asleep within seconds. I wonder if you ever think that it’s because we’re both busy and we simply do not have time to clean the mess.

Darling,

I want to see the world through your eyes to figure what you think of me. You always wake up with me by your side, and you used to always greet me with “You’re beautiful” instead of a good morning. I wonder if you still think the same. I wonder if I’m still beautiful to you, even when I have drools all over my face and ball-sized dark circles underneath my eyes.

I want to see myself through your eyes and figure what makes you smile whenever our fingertips slightly touch. I want to figure what you have in mind when you look deeply through me and do not even bother to cover the silence, because I swear I always think you’re trying to read my mind. I want to figure if you’re bothered when I talk to my male friends, casually give them friendly hugs and pecks, because I’ve only looked at you through the corners of my eyes and filled my head with wonders.

I want to make love to you, baby, and see us through your eyes. I want to figure if you think we are really making love. I want to figure if you think it is love, not lust. I want to figure if that smile you always wear as you kiss every inch of me is purely because you’re in love with me. I want to figure if you really try to convey warmth from your body as you embrace me from behind afterward.

You know me, darling. I was born a hopeless romantic, and I will always be the girl as I am. Through my eyes, the sunrise is beautiful and the sunset — God — it’s a miracle. Through my eyes, the birds chirping wake-up calls every morning aren’t my thing — a late breakfast is. Through my eyes, everything is a work of art, including your scars.

Through my eyes, you are a work of art. You are a beautiful soul, one that comes with broad shoulders and sharp eyes. You are one of a kind. A cool guy at work yet a freaky one at home. You run a business where every employee respects you with honor, but you’re also a boy with no clue about what you’re going to do with life.

Through my eyes, making love to you feels like eternity. It’s the way you can never hold your childish jokes or unleash your stupid (I mean attractive) grin. It’s the way you always whisper an I love you and make it sounds like you really, really mean it.

But then again, that is all through my eyes. And sometimes, I want to see the world through yours to figure if, my dear, you are just as madly and truthfully in love as I am.

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