Most times I come over, you set the tone with a, “You look pretty,” in that bashfully cutesy voice. Sometimes you joke around about my insecurities, thinking it’s okay because you don’t believe any of them, but I still get upset. But when it really matters, you make me feel beautiful. When I went into the bathroom at that concert and I was washing my hands, there were two very pretty blonde-haired, scantily-clad girls on either side of me, fixing their perfect makeup and tousling their lovely waves. I looked up at my mirror and saw my frizzy, dull-looking curls where one side got so messed up somehow it looked like a ball of fuzz on top of my head. My gray sweatshirt washed out my already pale face and made the bags under my eyes pop. I watered down my mess of hair and walked outside where you were staring at the door, searching and waiting for me and you held my hand and you kissed my lips and the top of my curly, curly head and you kept me close while you walked me back to my seat and you paraded me around like I was the prettiest girl there and even though I hadn’t felt it looking in that bathroom mirror, I felt so beautiful when you held my hand.
You paid no mind to the gorgeous drunk girl sitting in front of us, flirting with you, even trying to dance with you, and joked that I should ask her to come home with us. I told you I didn’t have a chance with the way I looked that night and you didn’t seem to understand and you told me, “I think you look beautiful tonight.” You smiled that thoughtful smile of yours that makes your eyes dance with joy. You kissed me right on my lips and told me you loved me with your words and your dancing eyes and your happy, thoughtful smile. You hugged me, you danced with me, you kissed my cheeks, my lips, and my forehead. You held onto me all night while those pretty drunk girls looked on in envy. I knew how I looked but I felt so beautiful when you smiled at me.
Other times you make me feel beautiful:
In the morning when my hair is wild from having been slept on and my blush has faded away and I look oh so very, very sleepy but you still take a few moments to stare at me face-to-face with that thoughtful smile of yours, when you get jealous over guys or girls flirting with me or liking my pictures, in the shower before I’ve washed off my mascara and it’s running down my cheeks, when you call me a “sexy little thing” even though we’re just sitting there watching TV, when you accuse your own friends of hitting on me, when you pull me aside to heavy make out with me for just a second, when we’re hanging out with all your friends so you text me, “You look pretty” or snapchat me a picture of myself with a caption saying something like, “Gorgeous” and wait for me to look over and shoot me a big smile, when I hear you saying nice things about me to people behind my back, and just the way you look at me when we’re together makes me feel so, so beautiful.
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