[luftmensch]

the boy who falls in love with her will fall in love with so much more than he thinks.  

he will fall in love with darkened circles under eyes; the little dimples in her thighs—imperfections that glare when she looks at herself in the mirror.  he will fall in love with eyelashes that fall on rosy cheeks when she blinks; the way she sticks her mouth under the faucet when she’s spitting out her toothpaste.  the way salt water runs down her cheeks when teacups shatter on the floor.  

he must surely see the way her face gets red when she’s melancholy and the ugliness anger brings to her eyes.  he will have to watch her drooling a little in the morning and spending too long picking out clothes in the afternoon.  and he’ll be forced to see the way she begs for attention, a little too eager, because she wants the love of others to cover the scars she gave herself. 

he can fall in love with her laugh—the one that she hates.  he can fall for her ugly cry and her obsession with drowning her sorrows in tea and blankets.  he can love the way she’s always thinking about him, a little too much.  how when she babysits she wonders if he’d think it was attractive to watch her play mommy for the evening.  

this poor and jaded world tries to deny these awkward, unspoken parts of humanity.  but she wants someone who will take all of that and bundle it up with ribbon and hide it under his pillow so that in the mornings, when the grumps set in and bills pile up, he can give himself the gift of her.