I look at her and all I can see are her imperfections; each raised scar and dark freckle begging me to point them out but I stop myself. I let myself know that her imperfections are anything but; that she is immensely aware of them and she is also aware of my gaze.
I raise my gaze to meet hers and if imperfection is on her body, then perfection is in her eyes. I see the shooting stars people wish upon and the last, endangered Indiana bat hiding in a eerie cave to escape the danger of humanity; I see the hunger in her eyes for something tough to bite on and rip, I see her loneliness; that the cave she hides in is far too large for her - even if her mind never seems to end.
There are no corners or rooms in her mind, just a straight hallway and I see it in her eyes. I see the smoke of her last cigarette curl like thunder around her pupil and she laughs with glossy eyes while I wonder how I can save her if I'm already drowning myself. Will this boulder in the midst of a current carry both our weights or will I have to hold hers and my own?
My fingers slip and she continues to laugh; I'm drowning in the cerulean blue of her eyes and the tides hit me harder than ever but she tells me to just let go and I find that pain is easier to succumb to when you're already dead.