What you don’t know about me, what you take for granted the most is when you tell me stories.
When you tell me the things about your life, you think I’m like everyone else. You think that I’m only listening politely. You think that I’m just waiting for my turn to talk.
Sometimes I wish you could see what happens to me when you start to tell another one of those amazing stories about you, about the one person I love to hear about more than anyone.
When you start to tell me a story about you, about a time in your life that I wasn’t there, that’s the time that it happens.
I creep behind your eyes, I listen to your words, and while you’re painting me a picture of how it was, while you’re telling me about how his eyes looked, what words he used, what happened while you were reliving the best memories of your life, while your eyes get far away, the shine of memories upon them, your eyes smiling brightly into a past only you know, that’s the time it happens.
That’s when I creep behind your eyes, and the story plays like a movie in my head. You are always the star, the hero, the reason behind everything wonderful.
And I wonder if my stories ever sound this way to you.