She wanted to see what he saw. The way that he looked at her, with eyes that were thinking, and thin

She wanted to see what he saw. The way that he looked at her, with eyes that were thinking, and thinking something hard. She was the inspiration for those thoughts, and she had no idea why. She wanted to inspire thoughts in herself, she wanted to see what he saw.

When he left for work she went over to the mirror, and started to squint. She remained, standing there, squinting. She squinted a little harder, as if the tears that formed in her eyes from the strain would create a film to settle over her vision, kill her focus and let her see the reality that he was so able to view. As if she was a magic eye picture, and she just wasn’t looking right.

But her eyes just got wet, and she had to blink it all away. And when she was done, she was still standing there, and the only difference was that her eyes were red. She huffed, and retreated. 

“What do you see?” He was reading, and she was laying next to him, head on his stomach, shoulders pressed against his side. He looked up.

“I see all sorts. Eyes are wonderful for that sort of thing. Anything I look at, I see.” He went back to his book with a smirk on his lips. She slapped the back of her hand against his shoulder.

“No.” Her voice sounded a little small. “I mean when you look at me.”

There was a pause. He closed his book, and put it on the sofa beside him. He looked down at her, as if to refresh his memory.

“I see you.” Her hand came up to slap him, and he arched his eyebrows up, half warning, half stay of execution.

“What I mean…” He licked his lips, narrowed his eyes. “Is that I see you. I see all of you, because I know all of you. All of my knowledge, that I’ve wrung out of you in all of those…” He smirked again, glanced away from her for a moment. “…fun ways…” He looked at her again. “All of that is there every time I look at you.

You’re like a smelling salt for our experiences. The tip of the iceberg, with everything underwater. I see you, and I know the rest is there, and it is all there, for me to touch and relive, if I wanted to.” His speech was littered with little pauses, momentary reminisces that made him smile. She liked his smile. 

“And I see all the parts of you that aren’t memories. Your laugh, your personality. The things you like, and the things you so enjoy hating.” He was staring at her now, and smiling all the while. He was looking like a predator, albeit a particularly happy one. Content, perhaps.

“But most of all, I just see what’s mine.” Her breath caught. That word had power.

“That’s what I see.”