If You Think I'm Pretty

Don't Leave Me Guessing

If you think I'm pretty, tell me. Don't leave it buried beneath glances I have to decipher. Make it obvious. Look at me in a way that lets me feel adored before you've even spoken a word.

Whisper it into my ear when the world grows quiet. Then tell me again in front of everyone, as if loving the way I exist is the most natural thing you've ever done.

Tell me what you notice. Tell me my eyes catch the sunlight in a way that makes you look twice. Tell me my laugh lingers in your mind long after I've gone. Tell me what steals your breath for a second, what makes your heart stumble, what makes you forget the next sentence the moment you look at me.

Don't make me search for affection between the lines.

If you think I'm pretty, tell me. Tell me you love the way I dress. Tell me which color lingers on me the longest, which one makes you look twice. Look into my eyes and confess the thoughts your heart only dares to have after midnight.

Tell me the little things. Does the white liner make my eyes shine brighter? Do I look prettier with my hair falling over my shoulders, or twisted into a careless knot? Tell me which version of me follows you home after I've gone.

When you look into my eyes, does something inside you change? Does your heartbeat forget its rhythm? Do your hands grow restless? Do you wait for me to look away first, hoping I'll surrender before you do? And when you win that silent little battle, does it leave a smile on your lips for the rest of the day?

If you think I'm pretty, don't make me wonder. Tell me every little thing you've noticed. I want to know the version of me that exists only in your eyes.

Tell me how I look when sleep begins to find me. Is it beautiful? Does it make you want to memorize the quiet of my face before dreams carry me away? Make you want to hold me?

Tell me which version of me you love most. The one who smooths every strand of hair into place, or the one who forgets to be graceful altogether? Do you like me polished, or do you find something beautiful in the moments I come undone?

Tell me what you see when I'm angry. Does the fire in my voice unsettle you, or does it help you understand me? And when I break, when my strength slips through my hands and I no longer know how to hold myself together, does something inside you break a little too?

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If you think I'm pretty, don't let your eyes be the only thing that loves me. Tell me about the places no mirror has ever reached, the corners where my kindness sleeps, the rooms where my anger keeps its keys.

Tell me when my pride begins to sound like truth. Call me back before I wander too far into myself. Correct me like you're holding a candle, not a knife.

Know when to meet my fire, and know when to let it burn itself to ash. I have never needed someone at my feet, only someone unafraid to stand beside me.

When my voice forgets its softness, don't raise yours. When my lungs mistake panic for breathing, take my hand and lend me yours. When I unravel, be the quiet that waits for the thread.

Don't build my world for me. Don't bleed just to prove you care. Save your heroics for stories.

Just stay.

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If you think I'm pretty, be afraid to touch. Keep me at a distance only your thoughts are allowed to cross. Don't let your hands betray what your heart has hidden for so long.

Don't make me search for it in borrowed glances or linger too long over the way your eyes found mine. Don't leave me wondering whether admiration ever passed through your mind, only to disappear before it reached your lips.

Don't leave my thoughts wandering the shape of your silence, stitching confessions from words you never said.

If you think I'm pretty, you might as well confess a secret.

Tell me which part of me followed you home.

Tell me what made your breath hesitate.

Tell me whether it was my smile, my eyes or simply the terrible misfortune of meeting me at all.