Her

A short view of another though love's eyes.

I began to picture her in the hallways, as if she was with me in spirit somehow. Not that I believe she was , but in my mind I could see her before me , laughing at the pictures in the hall. I could see her smile come up from the corner of her mouth and travel along her face. I saw how happy she was in her eyes, it only took a moment for her to make you feel that same life she had in her bones. I remember that day as if it was today, the sadness I felt. There was more I wish I could say, more I wish I could get out, more I wish I could explain if only my heart would speak maybe she could see. Yet, all I said was a few mumbled sorry’s, and enough to make a plain woman understand. But oh, how she was so much more than a plain women, how everything about her wasn’t plain, and yet, she made simple seem so appealing. She was everything and more while still being balanced and unvain. It’s as if she knew the sorrows and grief of a long lived life, yet had the wonder and love of an unscathed child. How can someone love so well and have felt so much pain? How does one give even though so many, even myself,  have taken from her time and time again? How do I love someone who is love itself? I could never match her, It would be like asking the moon to pretend it was the sun, For she is all filled with light and forever lovely. She’s too much to fully stare at and comprehend, yet you need her in your veins. I need her against my skin to feel warmth in my life. I need her in my room to see what is before me , to know what I even am, I need her. She is what I need , yet I give her nothing.

    I wanted her to see how I felt, if only she could feel what I felt then maybe I could be okay. But yet, again, I failed her. Her face simply took my breathe away in an instant, and I couldn't seem to bear the right words to simply say I love you. How she’ll never know how I picture her in the hall, gliding from wall to wall remarking on the beauty of everything she see’s. How she wouldn’t know that she is more beautiful than any site or thing itself, that she is the masterpiece that she see’s in even the dullest of things. She gives life to death and purpose tot he mundane . How I picture her now, simply sitting on my couch, as if her whole life had lead to each moment she had. Content with every being in her body, not worried, not tired, not needing not wanting, just being. How I see her , in all beauty and all flaw, like a sweet dove who knows its lover is near and will never leave. How I picture her now.