When I look at you most think I look at the obvious; handsome face, blonde hair, or the black ring that hangs from the right corner of your lip. But thats not it at all. When I look at you, I see your eyes. I know what you're thinking, thats so obvious.

But it's not. Your eyes are different. One day they are the softest shade of baby blue, softer than the fur that blankets a bunnies back.
But other days they are dark; like the deepest part of the ocean, or the light that surrounds the moon on a cold, crisp night.

I try to decipher everything about you. Why is it that when you smile it looks like your holding back, a half smile forming at your perfectly shaped lips? I have only heard you laugh once, but it is the most enchanting sound I have ever been exposed to.

A deep, belly laugh, that made me have tons of swarming bees in my stomach. No not butterflies.

All butterflies are sweet and how you make me feel isn't always sweet. It stings and leaves a small red welt, that eventually heals.

I know you don't notice me. Don't see my like I see you. Don't examine every sweet little detail, like I do. I tell myself thats okay, but it's not.
You are all I see, and too you I am just another face in a sea of people, ready to jump at your every word. You want it, you got it.

I can't help how I feel, or how you feel. And late at night, when the sky is awake, I lay in bed thinking about the why?

Why are you always worn out? Why do you eyes look so warm and welcoming, yet so cold and dark? Then I stop.

I remember the sting, the hurt, the long days and nights spent imagining.

"It's not worth it," I'll think. But then I'll will remember the first time I saw you, a cold day in Febuary.

I'll remember how you looked; your black skinny jeans and plain black t-shirt. I'll remember your voice, so coaxing and sweet.

I'll remember your eyes, a light blue that peirced right through my heart, like the black ring that hung from your lip.

He is bad, I thought. But I didn't care. His eyes had me under a spell, his slight smile had me captivated.

The rush of adreneline I underwent when my eyes meet his, made me tired. Tired of the butterflies.

Ready to feel the sting and hurt of the black and yellow bees.

Now when I look at you, I know I am another face in the crowd, I know you don't notice me.

But I still get the bees swarming in my stomach at the sound of your name mentioned. I still feel the adreneline rush; thats what I love. Thats the not-so-obvious thing I notice about you.