these eyes are nearsighted but they are still meant to admire you.

Don't let them just wither away here, vision mildly decaying year after year. Resolving pixels on my monitor screen in place of you, seeing digital words and virtual images so limited by the contrast, brightness and RGB control. This pair haven't seen you for so long, they have begun to see you everywhere; like ghosts of varying degrees of translucency and desaturation, all lingering suggestions of your beauty both normal and paranormal. From that giant eye of an actress in a billboard to the slightest variance of the jawline of the the girl sitting across me in the commuter train I take everyday. Lingering. Lingering. All striking my photoreceptor cells with the same force of how your memory boots me up in the morning.

Everyday a constant barrage of you, when you are not really there. Visual information overload. And, no, I just cannot close my eyes.

The darkness of my room is a tricky refuge when it hits me as a good idea for escape. And when my eyes adjust to the darkness, in the absence of color, there is nothing to remind; except that in the darkness there are things other than me. In the shadows and light deprived spaces of my room are my classified intelligence photos, satellite images of you filed under reveries and ultimately the memories driven by an internal combustible engine I call my imagination. The darkness isn't safe really when dreaming is another realm of looking for you. Escape only comes with sleep, dreamless sleep, provided by sheer physical exhaustion.

It's been too long, been too long squinting at the first sight of the early afternoon, or the mid-morning sun, some sights that are accompanied by involuntary moisture sometimes. Every day is this. Every afternoon is this. Every night is this. The world is so lomo, underexposed positives and photoshopped reality when I want a full color, life-sized and all of the possible 10 million colors of you. I have had enough of pseudo representations of you, please satisfy the saturation points of my eyes again.

Let me see you again, because my eyes they only make up the first line of a whole range of appreciation for you and they are barely my whole arsenal when it comes to loving you.