“Do you believe me when I tell you you’re beautiful?”
He pauses. Shrugs. Is uncomfortable. “I believe that you mean it when you say it…” he says finally.
I nod. I mean it. Of course. I don’t say things I don’t mean.
I don’t think anyone has ever told him that he’s beautiful before. It’s not how most women relate to men. He doesn’t quite know what to do with it, isn’t comfortable with it.
I will keep saying it because it gives me pleasure to tell him, because I want him to know how I see him, because I want him to believe it.
Also because he’s beautiful.