I love to watch you read.
I love how you place yourself on that tight corner. I love the way your fingers deftly turn each page without even creasing any. I love how you balance the book on your knees while you create a bun above your head (with your eyes never leaving the pages). I love your sneak peeks. You'd catch me watching you read. You'd smile at me and continue reading. I’d smile back at you and continue watching.
You are such a beauty when you read.
It’s such a beauty to watch the wonder from the book pierce your pupils and see how it spread to your irises, to your corneas. And the same wonder would extend to your face, making your cheeks blush brighter and your lips stretch wider. I would find myself smiling at the sight. I'd have no idea what the wonder was but I'd found a better wonder: You.
It’s such a beauty to witness your forehead crease and your nose wrinkle. You would unconsciously raise your left eyebrow and pull your head farther from the book in disgust. Perhaps, you’d read about the despicable character you couldn’t stop talking about. I would laugh and you would eventually, look at me with the same look. I’d shake my head and continue smiling at you. You would not turn the expression down. You would just roll your eyes and read again.
It’s such a beauty to see your eyes become glassier than usual, and your eyelids become heavier with water. And when you realize you’re nearly crying because of a book, you would look at me and laugh with teary eyes. You’d mutter, I look stupid when I cry. And I would disagree and reach out to you to wipe the tears. You’d wedge the bookmark between the pages and put the book down. I’d open my arms for you. I would then caress your hair and kiss the top of your head. We’d end up sleeping in each other’s arms.
Even at your worst state, you are such a beauty.
I love the way you brush the remaining few pages with your fingers and the look of worry would be present in your face. You would turn the pages in a slower pace but you would eventually go faster. I love how you sigh and smile after you'd read the last prose on the last page. And I love how you'd slide your hands against goose bumps-puckered arms. You would set the book down and look at me. You would whisper, The end. And I would say, Read it again, then. You would shake your head no and place it on my right clavicle – a spot that you owned. You would wrap me with your short arms and rest your legs on my thighs. I would stroke your hair slowly, gently. Eventually, your breathing would slow down and you would be stiller. I would lay my cheek on the top of your hair and follow you in a world where the wonder never ceases.
You would lend me the finished book and you would tell me to read it. I would shake my head and smile. You would raise your eyebrow and would say, It’s a wonderful book, you should definitely read it. To which I would reply, I’ve already found the most wonderful person in the world. I don’t need more wonder.
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