To be looked at is not the same as being seen.
To be touched is not the same as being discovered.
I do not want to be admired from a distance,
nor consumed in passing.
I want to be understood.
To be considered.
To be held in thought
even when I am not in the room.
When you look at me,
what is it that you see?
Do you see me,
or only the version of me
your eyes have imagined?
When your gaze lingers on my face,
when it traces the contours of my body,
what moves through your mind?
Is it only desire,
or does something deeper stir?
Does the sight of me
reach somewhere beneath the surface,
beyond the skin,
within your soul?
And when you bask in my light,
where the world seems softer
and life takes on a warmer hue,
do you take note?
Do you feel yourself moving to another rhythm?
Have you slowed the pace of your stride?
Do you see the world
with new eyes now?
Did you feel it?
You thought it was me who awakened something in you.
But it was never me.
It was you.
It was always you.
