Just a little something that wouldn't leave my head.


You've watched her since the day you met her.

You've gawked as she sawed chest cavities apart, brow crinkled in dogged determination. Owning scrubs just as well, if not better, than Chanel.

You've marveled over her at crime scenes, performing her job with the delicate ferocity she alone possesses. Her poise demanding attention. Attention, and usually, more time to assess before forced to guess.

You've gazed wistfully, tracking her at the Robber while she flits about, helplessly aloof to barrage of suitors lining up for a shot with her. Hopelessly aloof to the first in line right by her side.

You've stared through glass doors while she picks herself back up from wounds you've afflicted. Too proud and foolish to right all you've done wrong, yet too in love to let her cry alone. So you've stood unnoticed, on guard until her tide has turned.

You've admired her in your home, holding your gun. Her bravado and affection doing more to protect you than your gun ever could.

In peril and on Sundays you've watched her, because to not watch her means to lose her to Ian or to Dennis or to Tommy. And to lose her means to lose yourself.

You've watched her so silently, so secretly, for so long until one day it's not enough to watch her anymore.

And so you watch her for what you fear may be the last time, teary-eyed as you come clean and whisper your love of her, to her, in the falling rain. Your scraggly dog yipping at your heels and functional clothing clinging to your body, but none of that matters because she's all you've ever seen.

For years you've kept your eyes open. On her. But as she reaches out to brush your hair out off your damp face and sighs an "I love you too" against your lips, you finally allow your eyes to slip closed.

Because feeling her?

Her touch shows you more than your eyes ever did.