How My Love at First Sight Feels Like

The faces you make is worthy of a pre-school wall poster, while I gawk at the every purse of your lips, smirk, and subtle smiles you do with your eyes.

I love how you’re never afraid of diving in the crowd just to find that sweet spot where you can see the artists perform– whether or not you know the band– your curiosity seems as if you can sing along.

You like taking pictures so much, and when I asked why, you said because all pictures deserve a smile– and so you go on, shooting people’s faces candidly, and the same innocent expressions reflect back on you at the every moment you capture. The irony is that I cannot seem to find a picture of you that reflects the way you are to me, stills are not enough to capture a moving picture that plays on my mind continuously.

Most of the time, you accuse me of being too silly– on throwing jokes that are just a few inches off the puns– and you try to hold your laughs. But you end up laughing anyway. Your shoulders bounce, you tilt your head back slightly, and then you wrap your arms around my shoulders. You might think that’s funny– but I just see it as lovely.

Sometimes you look as if you have a whole lot of things going on in your head, but when I ask you, you just stare at me blankly as if you expect me to read your mind; only to end up asking me questions sometimes too trivial to think about. But really, you make it sound as if the life of the world depends on the answers you seek to find.

When you ask about how your hair is, or if the new do’ looks good on you, or if you should lose some weight, I deliberately try to come up with coherent, sensible answers. I don’t want you to think of me as creepy for saying that your morning look is worthy of the postcards, and I am a foreigner always in awe of everything that makes up who you are.

Beauty is too overrated a word to speak of the way you make me feel, or the way you make me look at  things on the outside. But if I were to adhere to conventions in contrary to the thoughts of the skeptics, I would say that Shakespeare was right– Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?


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