If Only You Could See Through My Eyes

Why couldn’t he see himself the way I do? That goofy smile that made me grin wide and a nose that was a little too big for his face but also a little too cute for me to not place a gentle kiss to every few minutes. The hair upon his head that was a ruffled mess, sticking up in every which way. Those hands of his, adorable and chubby hands, that magnetized to mine. Those arms that were always so long and thin, proportional to the rest of his body, that wrapped their way around my smaller frame so wondrously that I never wanted them to let go. Every part of him was near perfect.

The boy I saw was like a dream, unrealistic because of how much I loved his very being. Moments of childish playing and joking that had me gasping for breath from laughing to absolutely ridiculous fights where we both knew who was in the wrong and right had my heart aching to be close to him for as long as I possibly could, forever. Although, at first, I had no idea I would, or could, feel this way about him.

How was I supposed to know that a stranger from those years ago would be the one I depended on so much, who just as well depend on me for a whole lot? He gave me a purpose. I never so badly needed to let someone know how divine and brilliant they were as a person.

The day we met surely was only yesterday, it seemed. He was walking through a library, barely giving a glance as to what was in his path. Luckily, it was me. Our bodies thudded to the ground as a rush of panic surged through him. I could see him becoming flustered as apologies spilled out of his mouth as he scrambled around to find the book he’d dropped that I had already picked up. I remember staring at the cover.

“To Kill a Mockingbird,” I said.

“Uh, yeah.”

His gaze focused intently on anything but me.

“You know, I was actually going to check this out.”

“O-Oh. It’s the last copy.”

He rubbed his arm awkwardly. I could tell all he wanted was to grab his book and run; run away from the encounter, but I didn’t want it to end. He was adorable, no doubt. I knew it’d be stupid of me not to at least try to get his number.

“Do you mind if I borrow it from you? After you’re done?”

“Y-yeah, sure.”

His eyes at last flicked up to meet mine, a meek smile forming on his lips

“Well, you should probably give me your number, so you can call me when you’re done.” I smirked, knowing full well that my interest in that book was no longer relevant.

“Sure! Yeah, um,” He complied quickly and slid his hand into the pocket of his incredibly tight jeans to retrieve his phone.

The hand unoccupied with the novel reached out to take his phone. I typed my number in expertly quick, handing it back with a smile. I remember that blush, too. How his face turned red, how I almost ‘awed’ aloud. My brain reminded me quickly that I had been holding onto the book for a while now. A part of me wanted to keep my grip and make that moment last longer, but it came to an end all too fast as I placed it back into his hand.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Thanks for letting me borrow it after you.”

“Well, I’m gonna go check this out now,” he said as he held the book up, hiding a shy smile behind the fringe of his dark hair.

“Wait, uh, I didn’t get your name. I’m Alex,” I touched his arm lightly to stop him from moving around me to the check-out desk.

“Jack.”

And that was the first encounter I had with Jack. It was over as quickly as it happened, but ended with full eye contact with him and the most breathtaking smile I’d seen in my 20 short years of life. At this point, I didn’t know what was ahead of me: the love that would bloom on and on, always blossoming with new buds. Because our love was just like that; new flowers always forming; new feelings always beginning. When we met, that bud had just begun to form. It popped up without knowing how beautiful it would grow.

Our second encounter was much like the first, too short for my liking. I’d been waiting for his call for about a week, hoping it wouldn’t take him long to read the book. Once I picked up my phone and heard his stuttering voice on the other end, my memory was triggered back to that day. He spoke too quietly, forcing my ears to strain just to catch the music of his voice. This was a clear memory in my mind, playing like a video.

We met at the library once again. I sat waiting in a plush chair in the middle of the building, wondering how long I’d have until he showed up. It wasn’t that I was so excited to read the book, but thrilled to see Jack’s face again. I had been borderline stalking his Facebook that entire week prior to the call, and now I didn’t have to stare at a digital screen anymore. His strides were long, walking up to me in no time, and taking a seat on the chair next to me. The nervous boy I’d met not too long ago was the same, but less awkward when speaking.

“It was so good, really. Tell me what you think of it when you’re done,” Jack told me, his face bright.

“Yeah, I will,” I smiled, since that was all I could do around him.

As I recall, we sat there for quite some time, talking and laughing. The funny thing is, I had no idea someone could hold such conversations. I was blown away by his humor and interests, yearning to know more. To me it looked promising down both paths, friendship or relationship. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to ask him out right there, but these things take time. I knew that all too well. Another part of me questioned it, though. What if this somehow turned into a strong friendship? I was happy with either outcome, and I know now that he would have been, too. Maybe that’s why we work so well together. Jack happened to end up my best friend and greatest love of my life. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

There were more meetings (I finally read that book, and, honestly, I hated it). The more we spent time together, the more I knew I liked him as more than a friend, and wouldn’t settle for anything less. The personality of anyone never caught my liking as much as his did. I could engross my day in just listening to him talk; it didn’t even have to be important or make sense. Jack’s words were so sweet to my ears, and I ate up every little word he spoke to me.

It’s such a shame his self-esteem was close to nonexistent. That was another thing that confused me to no end, how someone was so magnificent in my eyes but so insignificant and worthless in theirs. How could that be? It didn’t stop me from falling in love with him, though. I don’t think anything could have.

A year later, I eventually mustered up the courage to ask him out. I don’t think I’d ever been so terrified. At the end of the day Jack was mine. That adorable man was all mine, and I wanted everyone to know. I was so proud.

From that day on, though, I made it my duty to boost his confidence. I wanted his self-image to be no less than what I thought of him. He deserved nothing short of that. It was a battle he fought for years.

There was one night in particular that was sort of a turning point in our relationship. He spilled his heart out to me and told me how much he hated himself. Honestly, it tore my heart up. I felt sick. It didn’t make sense to me how this wonderful human could have such a horrendous view of himself, but that was his own, not mine. I listened to it all, only speaking when it was strictly necessary. And Jack thanked me after that night. Thanked me? Why would I need thanks after doing only what I knew I had to, just be ears to listen? I knew that’s what he needed. If anything, I felt as if I should thank him for being a part of my life and loving me just as unconditionally as I loved him.

I never mentioned how sweet Jack is, did I? Well, he is. My smile was always widest when I was with him. My heart pounded for him. He always made sure to let me know what he thought of me. It was unbelievable to me, hearing all of these compliments come from him, and they were all directed towards me. I didn’t think I would ever experience bashfulness until then.

Despite being the most caring boyfriend I’d ever had, Jack was very pessimistic and down on himself. Depression overtook my happy Jack, and I didn’t think I could handle it for much longer. He was still somewhat joking and excitable, but I could see through that. He wasn’t happy. I began questioning myself as to why he wasn’t comfortable being himself. A good boyfriend makes his partner feel good, right? Was I not doing that? I began setting myself up to fix my Jack and be the person he needed, someone to help him.

I know the morning it all disappeared is one he and I will never forget. All of his worries were vanquished early that day. I forced myself into waking up before him, and this is considerably early. Jack was always up and ready before me, but not that day. I was up at the crack of dawn, sharpie in hand. My plan was simple, kind, and hopefully something that would make my partner smile to no end. Because why would I ever want his smile to end? To me, it was the most beautiful sight.

My hands pulled back the comforter, letting out all of the heat that had been keeping us both warm. He just laid there and breathed steadily, unconscious and oblivious to my actions. That black marker worked quick across his stomach, bold words standing out against his stark, pale skin. I traced my finger lightly over his happy trail before laying myself in my rightful spot on his chest, then pulling up the blankets to cover us on our shared bed. That was another thing I loved, living with him. Moving into a cozy apartment with Jack was a check mark on my list of things-to-do-before-I-die. The rest of the list was compiled of things I’ve always wanted to do, but they were all to be shared with him. It was a rule.

So, I drifted off again that morning, asleep when he woke, as usual. Jack shuffled underneath me. I remember feeling him stirring and getting up from the bed. This made my eyes snap open; I didn’t want to miss the look on his face, so I wiped the sleep away and focused my attention on him. The routine was one I knew by heart. He’d wake up and stumble over to the regrettable full length mirror on the wall across from our bed. The look of disgust always painted his face even from a glance at his reflection, and it killed me. This morning would be different, though.

He tripped over, as per usual, staring into the glass whist ruffling his hair with one hand. The way he froze made me worry he’d gone into a state of some sort of shock, but it didn’t worry me as much as the tears. Jack spun around so fast, cheeks wet from the river he was crying; his stomach showing the words “You Are Beautiful” written across his stomach. He was speechless, but the giant grin he was sporting said it all. In the matter of an instant I was being hugged, or, more as it was, crushed.

“T-Thank you. I. Love. You.” Each word of affection was punctuated with a kiss.

“Don’t ever forget how beautiful you are, ever. I know that what you see isn’t appealing in your eyes, but, baby, if you could only see through mine. You’re the most magnificent thing I ever seen. I never met someone with a mind and spirit quite like yours. Please never think badly of yourself because I don’t think there is a flaw in you. I love you, Jack. So, so much.”

And that was the end of that conversation. We never had to talk about it again, because from then on Jack made a mission of his own, a lot like mine. He made sure that every glance of his reflection was always met with a positive thought. He did that for me. And I did it for him, like I meant to in the beginning. I helped him see the good in himself, and now, as I stand here, I see that same man in front of me, my husband. My caring, kind, sweet, perfect, gorgeous husband who has made my life feel so complete.

And that’s the story; the story of how I fell in love and helped the love of my life see how truly stunning he is. Because that’s what my purpose was all along, wasn’t it? To make Jack see himself as amazing as I do.