Open your eyes.

There’s a gift I can give to you even though you’re not the gift loving type. It’s a small offering a single contribution a wrapper-free and bow-less box filled with something you never asked for but maybe you’ve always needed.
This is my gift to you:
I’ll be the eyes to see what you don’t and I’ll be the voice that fills the ears deaf to those things for too many nights and too many days that followed. This is my tribute to all you don’t see, to the parentheses around your smile and the way laughter slithers from your lips and curls the corners of your mouth like they’re tied to hidden kites flying in hidden skies.
Open your eyes.
This is to how your feet throw heat and warm mine and how the sensation of calm can literally travel from your fingertip to my fingertips and up my arms into my chest.  How the sight of you catching sight of me is enough to set my heart sprinting. To the sheer volume of that heart’s beating and the way it fills the room with noise like the sound of flags flapping in the wind, or broken songs beating through broken speakers, this is to all you don’t see,
Open your eyes.
This is to the sound of my name in your mouth the way it dances off your tongue and leapfrogs through the air to find me again.  To the whispers and the screams, and the muted mumblings of your tired morning voice and the words you don’t remember saying and the ones you do. This is to the heart that’s too big for your body and to your body that’s too small to hold all your dreams. To the ballet of beauty that fills the empty moments of your sleeping and the sunlight that paints your face to pull you from it.
Open your eyes.
I’ll be the eyes to see what you can’t the constellations of freckles and beauty marks and the forgotten scars from forgotten wounds. The hair that hangs like curtains over the windows of your eyes and the light that streams in from behind them from some other place better than here the beckons me to follow.  To the pace of your breath and the warmth of it on my cheeks and to the tracing of fingers on the valleys of my back.
This is my gift to you, and you’re not the gift loving type. A tribute to the details you forget to notice and picture they create. This is to you, all of you and what you are to all of me. To the me you help create and shape and heal and change for all the right reasons
at all the right times.
Open your eyes.