a s h e s

her name is sarah (an icky gooey love letter/poem thing: an incoherent ramble)

her name is sarah.

if you were walking down the street, you might not notice her. she's not striking, not in any fashion of features. she won't ever (probably) be on the cover of a magazine and you might never know her name. she's normal, like me--like you. there's nothing special to her, if you just glance at her. if you don't know her, if she's just a stranger. you won't dream about her, you won't think about her, you won't love her.

but i do.

because to me, sarah is not a stranger. slowly, like a good poem, her meaning and message begin to make sense. you begin to notice and appreciate things about her: the way she makes you smile and the way your heart aches when you miss her and the way you love to just be with her in every sense including platonic senses and the way you're comfortable about her and the way she just...is. you begin to notice how ethereal her long soft hair is, in all it's ebony glory. you began to notice that her tired eyes, so dark and deep, how secrets only for you to keep. you begin to notice that her hands are lovely and elegant and they move like how water moves (and you don't really know how to explain it). you begin to notice that she has this little permanent smirk and her smile is beautiful and she doesn't smile enough and her laugh is nasally and she has the perfect expressions when she's surprised or when she orgasms or when she cries. you notice that she chews too loudly but it doesn't bother you. you notice that her legs seems to stretch for miles. you notice that her neck is like a greek statue and should be painted as modern art graffiti on some italian bakery: because why not? you notice that she dances awkwardly and that her taste in music is sometimes weird but her taste in everything is sometimes weird (including you) because she likes mystery and she likes to think and she likes to feel and she likes to philosophize. you notice that she worries too much. you're never sure if she really worries for her, but any time she's ever appeared heartless is canceled out because you watched her worry about hurting someone with something she said and you couldn't calm her down and it was funny because she puts on this apathetic front because she just cares too much. you notice that she drools on her pillow and on your shirt but you don't care. you notice how she takes your food without asking, and likes to put her feet on you. you notice that her feet are always cold, and so is her skin. you notice and laugh at the perfection of it: how your skin is always hot and hers is always cold. you notice the way she looks at you, like she looks up to you, and the way she watches you and takes note. you notice how much she loves you, even if she doesn't say it as much as you do.

you notice her insecurities. she doesn't like her smile and she doesn't like her face without her glasses, but you think she's a beautiful and exotic creature that you want to cage because you want to keep her but you know that sometimes things and people like her are meant to always be wild and free and youthful.

you understand new things about her, and new things about herself. like you said, she's like a poem (like the poetry she writes, confusing and intriguing and something to unravel) yet you don't just look into her soul because she looks into yours. double reflection, you see yourself in her. you see the world in her, and you want to save her because you love to save people yet at the same time you don't know if she can be saved or if she needs to or if  she'll let you.

you decide that you don't need her like this, not always. you don't have a consuming romantic passion for her: a do or die mentally. you'd be content in being just friends, because you'll take anything you can get. you enjoy her more than anyone else, you love to spend (not waste, time with her is never a waste) time with her and talk to her and look at her. you love her company, you love when you fall asleep together. you love waking up together. you love to hear her breathe and snore and move around and you even love the stupid drone of the fan inside the room because it reminds you that you're together and you're still amazed by that.

you're still amazed by her.

her name is sarah, and even though strangers might not be impressed you will always be impressed. and you're glad that she isn't obvious to everyone: you like to keep her to yourself. you hope that maybe she won't show everyone the things she's showed you, maybe you'll be special and this will be special to her like it is to you. she knows you, she knows you inside and out and she knows more about you than anyone else on the carefully fragile webs that have been woven for the past year.

her name is sarah, and you love sarah, and there's not much else you can say, right?