I tell her she’s beautiful. Over and over again. As often as I can.
But she shakes her head, and says I only think so because I love her.
It’s true. But would I love her any less if she didn’t have those soft, innocent eyes? If she didn’t wear her hair up, or down, or curly, or straight, or different every time I saw her? If her body didn’t curve so distractingly when she lets herself fall into me?
It makes me wonder if anyone sees the same thing that I do.
How much of it is her beauty, and how much of it is the beauty I see in her?
To me, her beauty is obvious, not subtle in any way.
So I tell her, over and over again.
Sometimes I think she’ll start to believe me if I say it enough.