It is a beautiful sight—you are the most beautiful sight.

Lying on your side on the white sheets, comforter pulled up to hide your body from the view, protecting you from the coldness of the air conditioning.

I lay on my side next to you, facing you, watching you as I refuse to let sleep overtake me.

Because the morning would come, and I would miss you once again.

You are breathing quietly, your chest slowly rising and falling with every inhale and exhale of air.

Your skin shines with sweat under the dim glow of nightlights—your body an expanse of paleness.

Your face is bare, it is not perfect—no, you are not.

There are scars hidden under all the BB cream, face powder and concealer.

There are wrinkles reminding us of time that is passing by.

Doesn't that only make you—us—human?

You are not perfect—the beginning of stubble is growing, faded old acne scars, sunburn freckles and opened pores showing, there are certainly laugh lines and crow’s feet decorating you.

Your hair is messy, damp strands sticking on your forehead and soft strands sticking out.

I don’t make it look better by entangling my hand in your hair, it gently as I get lost in my own thoughts.

I count your long eyelashes, memorizing the shape of your small nose, your thin lips, your perfect eyebrows, your soft cheeks and your sharp chin.

I am etching your face in my heart—but not the perfect view you always show in front of the camera.

No—I can find those pictures anywhere so easily I don’t have to try.

It is your imperfectness I need to keep, t