It was beautiful, the way she slept. Her golden hair scattered around her head which lay on her pillow, her stillness reminded me of death in a silent way. When her chest slowly rose in a breathing rhythm, the emotionless expression she displayed on her face, the way she managed to sleep in the most awkward position and take up the full-sized bed, and the way she whispered my name in a dream as if she knew I crept in to check on her.

Taking in this image of her sleeping body only brought me wishful thinking. I wanted the privilege to brush her hair out of her face, make her flush with laughter, compliment what she is most insecure about or even be able to smell her morning breath.

Love makes you do crazy things, crazy, small, unnoticeable everyday things. I find myself stuttering or slurring my words, being too aware of my breathing pattern, dropping everything I tried to hold or saying the stupidest things- anything for her attention even if it was just a moment’s glance. Just because that was enough, it was enough to hold eye contact or just be in her company, but I fell asleep on the empty cooler side of the bed where I wanted her to be.

All I wanted was to make a difference, a difference in the way she viewed herself and how she viewed the world. The flaws, slightly off teeth, a bump in her nose from where she broke it twice, a scar from a battle with her demons, more pudge on her stomach than she wanted, stubby fingers, her high-pitched voice, they were the things I oved the most. It was what made her, her.

But the pain, from everything that she has gone through- I wanted to take it all. I wanted to carry her burdens. The mistakes, I want her to not regret a single one because I don’t. Mistakes were what drove us together. I’ve spent the last seven years with her and I wish I could have told you how many stars I wished on, night I spend praying, or magic eight ball questions I’ve asked about having you.

But I could tell you how it unfair it feels to have you here, in my spare bedroom, and not actually have you. Although, it beats wondering who you are with and what you’re doing there. Despite those feelings she bottles up for a late-night crying session, she was perfect.

She was perfect to me when she got so mad she resulted to violence, when she got so frustrated that she would cry, and when she would laugh so hard a snort would slip out. Most nights I would think “    I’d love her for eternity” and other nights, “Would I be enough for her?”. Of all things I wanted more than having her, was for her to be happy.

Even if that means she fell in love with a guy who could give her all she wanted, all she deserved because I couldn’t. But, I would give her all that I had. Because even though she curses like a sailor, prays like a nun, and acts like a punk, she needed to be treated like a princess.

Like all princesses, she needed a true prince, a castle, and a happily ever after. All I was, was a regular old toad, a toad waiting down beside a highway to get squashed and painted across the whole, lane for people to try and avoid running over.

I stood over her now slightly, pulling the covers up on her shaking body just slowly enough so that she doesn’t wake only so I can stand there for a few more passing moments. She turned in her slumber, facing away from me now. I glanced at the way that she clenched her pillow as if life depended on it and all I could think about were her eyes.

The deep blue color resembled a lake I wanted to swim in or drown. I let these thoughts float in my head because in reality- I was noting to her. She’d wake up how she always would, by herself, the sun shining through the curtains of the window that her bed faced, she’d crack her back, slip slippers on, and come down my staircase, smelling my coffee.

Now, I may or may not be her love interest, college, or friend but she was still in my life and I’ll settle pouring her coffee if it meant one more morning I got to see her sleepy gaze.