to wonder what it is she sees in me, as opposed to every other person she comes across in the day.

how it is she can look right at my eyes and fall.

so i dont look in the mirror often, now.

not that i ever really did.

but now i look away quicker.

look to my hands.

which she holds quickly and often.

which her fingers play upon and across.

and i feel my lips spread apart into a smile, crooked and clumsy as it may be, something which she makes me do.

so i leave. i leave where the mirror is, and i find her.

and it doesnt bother her that my fingers are often dirty from work.

it doesn't bother her that i smile like lyle lovett sometimes.

i make her laugh. really laugh. and i make her think.

i give her someone to talk to, someone who listens.

and she gives me the same.

then, when i look into her eyes, i know things are good.

i forget the mirror.