In her beauty, she doesn’t see her looks.
In her intelligence, she doesn’t see her smarts.
In her swagger, she doesn’t see her appeal.
But the fact that I do is bugging me. I barely know you, don’t know your name or any of your light skinned tendencies. But in that same aspect we are close. Where are you, Ms. Magnificent? Where is the one I want to love? Peel your shyness back like wrappings on the gift I give you: the gift of heart.
I swear, I fall in love with her every time we converse. In the moments we mingle she is always who she is meant to be. She must be an arsonist, because she’s starting a burning in my chest and an ache in my intentions. Thus her powers could very well bring me to an end.
She’s an open book by all means, but only she can translate her pages. Only she can tell her story without giving any twists that she didn’t intend. She is an affection unlike any the word has ever seen.
Her eyes- brown by all accounts, seeing through the soul as if the soul were translucent, she sees deeper than microscopes can dive.
Her hair- steady changing color, but never ceasing to amaze: red, yellow, black, brown, blue, colors in a rainbow of deep concentration.
Her smile- captivating to say the least. I find myself wishing her the best at the most random times. Her personality is one that fits mine so closely that I’m curious. We are close in soul, so why not close in attention? Let me concentrate on her like she’s an assignment, let me love her like geeks and gaming systems. Let me know her like I know passwords and let the same be said of her about me.
What is a crush?
I admit, I feel squashed to admit this, but I’m falling as if sky diving, and she is my parachute. I’m once more questioning my own comprehension, could she be the next in the line from my heart? Could she be the inspiration of many a poem to come if I play my cards right? The answer lies only with the question, and the question lies with her.
What does she think? Is it that her mind and mine are on different planes of the oblivion of existence, or is it that I’ve blinded myself from any flaw of hers enough to reject even her own objections? How could she not see it, her grip on my unaware heart? How could she not see her beauty, as obvious as it is, or her interaction with a crowd of comrades who indeed love her deeply?
Sugar sweet cream colored craving, let us parlay poetic fantasy until we both run out of things to say, let us intimate until we both forget the meaning of the word and show an infatuation that brings jealousy into the hearts of those who witness. And once we are done, let us restart again and again until the nights fade and final goodbyes are in order.
Let us speak. Let us smile.
Let us love.
~Emily.