When I see you, I see color. Your skin and your eyes. So perfect. So uniquely you. I see how so many foundations behind the counter. They can’t match all the shades that paint me and you. Your skin, your eyes, your hair, and your lips, all perfectly made in the shades that make me and you.
When I see you, I see color. I honor the hue. All the perfect differences that make a perfect ink blot. Painted on a canvas, brushed by the same hand. I see my maker, and the one who made you, in a masterpiece of the dreams of the One who made me and you.
When I see you, I see me. What I love and I hate. My weakness. My strength. The good and the bad. You reflect what is in me too. And I see our creator. The perfect hand. That holds the brush. That made the ink blots of me and you.
When I see sky, I can see grass because of the shades that make each of them too. How could I know black if I didn’t know white, and what would the world be if it wasn’t a canvas – the shades of me and you.
When I see you, I see love because without you, I can’t be me, too.
Mah Butt Itches 
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