I could stare at you for ages. Really.
I don't think I have ever laid eyes on anything as beautiful as you are. I probably didn't even know what “beauty” meant to me, before I met you.
It's probably all kinds of wrong, what I'm doing here – watching you sleep without you even knowing I'm here, but no matter how hard I try I just can't take my eyes off you.
Normally you wouldn't even be the type I go for at all. Not even close.
I'm not usually into badly bleached hair for example, but that kind of yellowish shade of blonde you've dyed your hair – and like it looks now, softly falling around your face and spreading over the pillows – it just suits you like no one else.
Finally I lower my gaze again, now staring at your face instead of your messy hair.
The tension I can usually see there is gone for once and you actually look relaxed, almost peaceful.
My view lingers on your closed eyes which I – if that is possible – adore even more than every other inch of your body.
To be honest I never believed in this “eyes are the mirrors of one's soul” stereotype.
Well, that was until I met you.
You just had to look up at me the way you always do: questioning, suspicious, always ready to make a biting remark, but still with something in your eyes that just told me you want someone to give you warmth. I wish I could be this “someone” for you.
Right now I'd do anything to make your eyes always shine like they do every now and then when you forget all your sorrow and pain for a moment or two.
I feel the sudden urge to reach out for you and caress your cheeks with my fingertips, but then you would probably wake up and – selfish as it is – I want to enjoy this a little bit longer.
So in the end instead of running my fingers softly over your face I lower my eyes a bit more and can't help but stare at your lips – other than your eyes they are probably the most intriguing of your facial features – and once again I get struck by how soft they look.
When we first met they were covered in black lipstick and I thought they looked amazingly perfect. But a while later when I first saw you without any makeup I felt like I had been hit right in the face. Actually, I was so captivated by your whole appearance that I was only able to utter a few words of greeting. I was literally too stunned to form a straight sentence.
Since that day I feel this strange but kind of pleasing pain whenever I'm near you. I guess that's is what it means to fall in love head over heels.
I must have forgotten the time and everything else around me, because when I look up to your face again (instead of staring at your blanket covered body, that is) I see those dark brown, somewhat warm and endlessly deep eyes of yours looking back at me.
„Watching me?” Your voice sounds a little rough with sleep, but you still manage to give it a teasing edge. I feel heat rising in my face when I try to watch you sit up without actually staring at you. But you hold the eye contact, questioning, but a little more focused now.
„Well...I...yeah...no – I mean, I...just wanted to see if you're alright.“ You lips stretch into a small smile.
„Dude, I'm just exhausted because there was too much work and not enough sleep happening in the past weeks. It's not like I', suffering from pneumonia or anything.” Well, at least you're joking which means you can't be too mad at me.
„Okay, I mean, I know, just wanted to check up on you...I'll better get outta here, huh?” With that I get up off the floor and run a hand through my hair. „let me know when you feel better. We should go out for a drink or something.”
And here it is: the ultimate proof that I do have a masochistic side. Going to a club with you means being close to you for hours, probably at least kind of drunk. Which means I'll be spending half the night trying to convince myself that you're not actually as amazing as I know you are, while trying to stay sober enough to not just do something really, really stupid. Like just kissing you or something.
I make my way to the door and glance back to you for a last time – you smile at me with a small nod and then start to wrap yourself in your blanket again. So finally I leave your bedroom and head into the living room of the apartment we share where I sit down on the sofa with a small sigh.
„God, Kyo...” I bury my face in my palms, staring at the floor, once again wondering how this is supposed to end.
I'm well aware that the feelings I have for you are way too strong to just try and forget them, even if I manage to ignore. At the same time I'm realist enough to know that there will be no such thing as a „happy end” for us.
But hey, that's okay, I guess.
I'm still part of your life and I think that's enough for me.
