Sometimes wish I could crawl up into his lap and
somehow sink into his skin and see through his eyes.
Those eyes, full of compassion
Those eyes, listening for what I don’t say
Those eyes, telling me how he wishes he could’ve been there, to stop that thing from happening.
Those eyes telling me I’m lovable… loved.
Those eyes that never see me as I see myself, and yet those eyes still open and close in rhythm with the cries of my heart that so desperately long for him to hear the whispers I don’t yet dare speak.
Those eyes that beam joy when they see me, acceptance when I fall, and great grace when I fight to hide from those eyes that only, ever, try to teach me how I was created to be loved.
Those eyes that weep with my pain, assuring me I’m not in this alone.
If I could see myself through those eyes… then would I have ears to hear.