I like her
for everything she is
and makes me be.
I want her for what she does when I´m not there.
I want what she does when no one else can see.
I love her for the way she looks out her window
alone
an early summer morning.
I love her for the way she looks at herself in the
mirror,
the way she touches,
herself with both hands held high,
and her fingertips against the glass
when she is
alone
with the lights on.
Her eyes meeting
her eyes.
I love the way she looks
at herself, she
evaluates
before adjusting her hair.
Then she leans back, and
makes a face
just to show it
and with her lips she
kisses the air
when the hour is late
or the door is locked, so
no one can see her.
I love how her eyes fill with
tears at night.
I love how she lies looking
through the darkness, and
I care for how she
hugs her pillow, wishing it was someone
else.
I love the way her quilt moves, as
she wiggles her toes beneath it, when
she is all warm.
I love how her lips move
as she whispers those nights, when
no one is there to hear it.
I love the dance
she does, the
steps she takes, when
the hall is dark, and
the people are asleep.
I love her undressing, when she takes
off her bra
throws it up into the air, and
catches it
alone.
I love her in the shower
when she hums her favourite song.
She´s alone then.
But I see those eyes.
I see the tears she cries at
night.
I see the footsteps she makes in
snow.
I see her hands left on what she
touched.
I see the way the pillow has
made her need another
session by the
mirror
for her
hair.
And I love it.


I´m not as alone, as
her under my spotlight, but
I do that, and if
you saw me in your spotlight, would
you love me?

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