To you he is ordinary.
To me he is ethereal.
I can see the stars in his eyes.
And I hope to someday be apart of them.
To be held with such optimism.
To you he is plain.
But to me he is beautiful.
His hair, his face, everything.
I notice it all.
But he doesn’t say he notices.
And he doesn’t notice me.
You say he is nothing.
But just one glance is everything to me.
I don’t think you see the potential.
That lingers in his smile.
Or lays dormant in his voice.
To you, to me, at any rate he’s something.
I wonder what he thinks of himself?
There is no conceit, no arrogance surrounding.
To you he’d be just another ordinary guy.
But to me, he’s something special.
Something more.
And just like the stars he has,
I wish to be reflected in him.
To be taken in him. With him.
To you he is nothing.
But to me, there is nothing.
Nothing that compares to him.
To you, to me.
What does it matter?
As long as he is alive.
As long as he is here.