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Nov 2013
He asked me if I looked at him differently
If our being together had transformed my image of him
I couldn't respond
Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't know the answer
Had hazy nights fogged memories prior to "us"
Even if those nights fogged memories of us, I wouldn't want to remember
He asked me if I looked at him differently
Before he was another head in the hallway
Another peek in the door creak
Another this or that
It isn't about him being different
It's me
Noticing all of the imperfections and perfections that he always had
As I hear the wind rush, I feel pathetic for thinking of him rather than myself
There are periods of darkness when it's me alone with my thoughts
But my thoughts
Are consistent of him
I don't look at him differently, I see him differently
I see the black holes in his pupils, kaleidoscopic thoughts and sentences and ideas
I see greatness in his walk, as if it's down a busy street
I see his face, soft, the kind of soft that makes you want to crawl into yourself forever
I see the pain in his eyes
Before it was mere darkness and yes, I look at him differently
Because the darkness has meaning
It means that words perceived as malicious were merely words reflective of
"I don't care"s and "You'l never understand"s
And I don't
He asked me if I look at him differently
How could I not?
Now I know what's beneath everything he wears
The smirk on his face, the raising of his eyebrows, his shirt...
I do look at him differently because he is no longer "someone"
He is HIM
He is my thoughts and my ideas and excuse the melodrama, but he is everything
And on days when I don't see him
There are no ideas
There are no thoughts
If I weren't to look at him differently
I wouldn't know what late night drives along the ocean would mean
I wouldn't know what feeling wholesome felt like
I wouldn't know what I want
He asked me if I looked at him differently
And today he asked again
Except today it was teasing and condescending
I'll always look at him differently
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