You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And I know that. But I can’t rediscover it every fucking day. I can’t return to that epiphany every time my alarm clock goes off. It’s unnatural. But what I can do, and do quite naturally, is become jaded and unimpressed by it. I can see your beauty as normal, as one of my life’s many constants. I can climb atop its shoulders and travel about, rolling my eyes at sunsets and rainbows, dismissing all the beauty of the world as less than average. And I can complain to you about it. And you can deduce your beauty from that.
