and it must be hard for you
to find a reason to love me
in spite of what is true.
But still “beautiful” you call me,
and I just can’t believe
that you can say this truly—
I just cannot conceive.
Maybe you think I’m sweet
and that offsets the rest,
but that’s a special feat
and it’s you that does it best.
Maybe you think I’m smart,
but you are smarter than I,
you’ve known it from the start—
this you can’t deny.
What is it then that you see
when you look into my eyes?
Whatever could it be
that I cannot recognize?