“You’re beautiful.” he whispered.
“Stop."
“Stop what?” he asked.
“Saying I’m beautiful.”
“Why? it’s the truth..”
“It’s not. You don’t see the real me. The me at the end of the day, tired and worn. You don’t see me trying to find the perfect outfit. You don’t see me in the mirror, so how dare you say I’m beautiful .”
He shook his head, almost laughing.
“You don’t get it do you? You have no fucking idea what you look like. Yeah you’re right, I don’t see you the way you see you, but you also don’t see the way I see you. You don’t see how you laugh, or the way you tell a story, you don’t see the way your eyes light up when you talk about all the things you love. You don’t see yourself wrapped in my arms, or the way you look when you wake up. But I do, and that’s why I have every right to call you beautiful.”
