Everytime I look at her, I always wonder: is her smile real? What does she have beneath that curve she made on her lips? Is she hiding her sadness– her sorrow, and trying to be strong like she always is? Everytime I look at her, I’m always thinking – that beneath her gentle thoughts, her lovely cheeks, or lips or eyes, there’s her beauty, her real beauty that most people would close their eyes to – that she’s just far– way far too beautiful to be sad.
But that is what we do not realize so much of the time: that it is easy to look at someone, and think that the burdens that they have are light; that it is easy to forget we all have our own private agony– that we all, have our own personal hell.
I want to tell her something good and true. When her soul feels like the blinds are pulled down, and no light can make it through her, I want to tell her that I love her– that I love her like I always in love with the sky, no matter the weather. I want her to believe me, and let my love flood the ruined parts of her. I want to watch her rebuild those breaks and cracks into valleys, where my love would flow. She might drown– oh she will drown.
But I promise that somewhere in my love’s depth, she will find her breath.