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I almost forgot about you today. A sizable
spill of coffee shot me to my feet, holding
up my mocha-soaked notebook like an
unclaimed child. A dozen eyes found
me at once---a security measure meant
to bring shame to a klutz breaking his
social contract. Attention for **** living.
When the pain receded I stood in place
and imagined you brushing your teeth.
I feel strange.
Half light-hearted, half heavy-handed.
You know when you get a song stuck in your head
and you can't get it out?
I hate that.
That's sort of what this feels like.

I feel better.
Less panicked, more confused.
But a good confused.
You know that feeling of warm water
running down your back
when washing your hair?
I love that.
That's sort of what this feels like.

I feel great.
And nothing.
This is just what I needed.
A warm bath and a quick nap.
You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.
And I know that.

But I can't rediscover it every ******* day.
I can't return to that epiphany
every time my alarm clock goes off.
It's unnatural.

But what I can do, and do quite naturally,
is become jaded and unimpressed by it.
I can see your beauty as normal,
as one of my life's many constants.

I can climb atop its shoulders and travel about,
rolling my eyes at sunsets and rainbows,
dismissing all the beauty of the world as
less than average.

And I complain to you about it.
And you can deduce your beauty from that.

— The End —