SMALL TALKS

you.

you always said how bad you looked in the morning,

always so quick to jump on top of my words, stopping them from falling from my lips.

any praise or compliment would have been quickly shut down by a vigorous shake of the head or a hollow laugh.

words of how you always thought how bad your hair looked upon first waking up, and how you begged for my eyes not to be placed on you still holds strong in my mind.

fingers would soon shield away your face, laughter and bright eyes only visible through the cracks between your fingers.

you wasn't aware of how beautiful you looked then; even with your hair tangled in knots and your cheeks bright red from tossing and turning.

your smile never fails to send butterflies soaring through my stomach, making it feel like the first time I ever had the pleasure of seeing it.

or like when your fingers first got laced into mine; you was insecure because you'd never held somebody's hand before. but your hand fell so serenely into mine, i'd never have guessed it.

I've lost count of the number of times you'd tug a blanket round yourself, masking away any part of you, for you felt like you needed to be shielded away.

tears would run down your cheeks like copious amounts of streaming water, because you hated the way your nose looked in that picture, or how your skin looked in that light.

you managed to always criticise every single fragment of yourself, picking yourself apart at every single seam until you was entirely undone.

you always said how bad you looked in the morning,

but sweetheart, I beg to differ.

- there could be endless amounts of golden sunsets, and my eyes would still be on you.