A dream whose memory follows you, haunts you, affects you in your waking life in a way you can't quite explain.

It's like that.

You are like a dream in my mind. It's almost as though I don't actually see you; I feel you. You are an emotion so distinct, a sensation that can't be explained. I can feel you in my soul and in my skin, but the words have a hard time leaving my throat.

And suddenly I'm naked and I don't remember how I got this way. A sudden lapse in scenery, as dreams are prone to having. And you are looking down at me with eyes that see into my soul. I feel beautiful held in your gaze, as though you see in me something that my eyes are blind to, something wonderful.

You seem so sure you see it, but I'm afraid it isn't there.

When I look into the mirror, only olive eyes stare back. Not the windows your eyes look into; I can only see the curtains.

You seem so apprehensive, taking me in like a work of art you're afraid of defacing. But if you really look into my eyes, you'll see the truth – how much I truly want you to act. I want for you to have me; I want to see what you do next.

Because when we're sitting so close that your arm's touching mine and neither of us moves an inch, silently excited just to be touching… I feel like I might go insane.

And then you look at me again, caress me with your gaze, and I feel so valuable, so wanted. Your eyes lock on me, captivated, and with an ache in my heart I silently wish I could see what you see in me.

I wish I could see what you see.