Btw, a lot of stuff here isn't based on anything true.

Some people say love is blind.

I say the contrary. Once, I was blind; a girl of mascara and dresses, seeking what I thought was life. MTV and teen mags – they deceive; they tell a naïve thirteen-year-old that flirting and the “right look” and the right face wash would get you the little sparks they call love, and that was all that mattered. The veil over my eyes, over any excited preteen – you pulled it off, you opened my eyes to breathtaking beauty.

Boy, I’ve a confession to make.

Day One, you added me on Facebook and I thought it was queer that your profile picture was of a cartoon character. Day Three, I told myself that even if you looked really bad it didn’t matter; your personality shone through. Day Five, we met at the gallery and I wondered why anyone would hide that beautiful face behind Garfield’s – Day Six, you told me it was because you didn’t like how people judged you by your looks; your face wasn’t too bad but they needed to give your character a chance, too.

Day Seven, under the Orion and the diamond-studded sky, were you the prince the nine-year-old me saw when I closed my eyes at night? Of crowns and magic and glitter –

Of warm hands, of guitars and singing a dream -

“Shh, close your eyes”

Don’t loosen your grip on me – it’s stupid, but I want to know you’re there. What’re you planning, I’d like to know – but I trust you, and I don’t peep.

But when I feel your lips touch mine, I don’t have to open my eyes to see.