look closely.

what do you see?

you see him, with all his magic boy glory. his hair is almost too long (it casts off a 5 o'clock shadow on his face) but not enough (for you to tug and tear).

and his lips are always chapped. they crack with every lie. you try to offer him some lip balm, they crack again.

now look closely, but the other way. look at yourself. stare a while. are you okay, are you alright? i guess you don't know. you forgot. you've been too busy brewing him tea from your eyebags, and stabbing your heart with pens to use your blood as ink for your poetry.

stop. look again.

he still looks great. he still laughs and smiles and closes his eyes the same.

look again and again. he still makes you laugh. he's still a bad rapper. he lips are still dry.

again and again. your eyes fall out of their sockets. they roll on the floor. he wipes them with his handkerchief.

again and again. you don't want them back, you're happy this way.

what do you see, then?