I love you.

I don't know why, but--

I love you.

When I look at you,

I smile.

When you look at me,

I breathe.

I know the awkward fringe of your hair

when it's been cut.

I know the mischief in your eyes

when you scheme.

I know the tiniest scars that spider-web along your scalp,

where the bottle of a careless drunk

shattered so many years ago.

I know the bruises on your arm,

where you've blocked the many basketballs

from hitting my face.

One day I will tell you,

"I love you."

I hope then to count the crinkles in your face

when you smile,

and to know the way your voice sounds

when you say with warmth,

"I love you, too."