Often

 I don’t often stay up all night.

The stars are often dim to my eyes.

They look like dead pixels in the dark background.

But then I saw them in your eyes and they twinkled.

I don’t often enjoy the bright sunshine.

The heat burns my skin, the light hurts my eyes.

It feels like a bright light sucking out my energy.

But then I held your hand and the sun felt like a warm hug.

I don’t often run beside soft waves.

The ocean is loud and deep and unending.

It scares me.

But then I ran through the sand with you and my heart leapt with joy.

I don’t often touch the smooth rocks.

They seem shorn of their magnificence, beheaded of their majesty.

They seem forgotten, even by the dust that used to gather in crevices.

But then we laughed together on them and my rough edges softened

I don’t often look at the mirror.

The reflection has words to say, and they aren’t nice ones.

So I avoid glasses and mirrors and avert my eyes.

But then you fell for me and I was worth it.

I don’t often like the person I am.

But you do, and that’s enough.