A different kind of love

Before I start this, I want to say that I didn't intend it to be a second repetition piece but that's what came to me.
Also, this piece came a lot easier and faster than the last because the feelings were immediate and accessable. The last poem, the feelings needed to be dragged up from the deep place in my heart where I store them, a place I try not to delve into too often.
Maybe it's not really a poem but more a list of thoughts.


What is beauty?
Is it the way her eyes shine like cats eyes in the dark?
The way her layers of clothing make her look like she's cold
But the way I really want to warm her up
The way her hands play with each other like she's nervous
The way she came and spoke to me like we were old best friends, not Facebook friends on a late night surprise second meeting at a train station
The way her voice curls on some words, making her sound like she's not from this town, like she had the luck to get out
The way she has the same name as an ex but the way it doesn't make me think less of her
The way her headphones are so big they look like earmuffs but the way they match her hat perfectly
The way she discusses her career with such passion, an undying flame, like it was meant to be from the start
The way she notices the length of my hair
The way she laughs at all the stupid things I always say
The way I hope every new Facebook message is from her
The way she doesn't look like any other girl I've ever met
But the way this comes as a complete shock, even to me
The way I immediately get the urge to hold her and kiss her for no reason at all
The way I could listen to her talk for hours even when I can't relate to a single word
But the way I can relate so much to the other things
The way her smile lit up the whole train replacement night bus
The way I already miss her


Yes, she is beauty, she is love but of a different kind.

Varelai.