I vaguely remember someone introducing me to the idea that everyone’s soul is an intricate map. Which is fairly true, I should say. A map is usually presented in a folded form, and you will only see the big picture when you open it up carefully. Do it too harsh and you’ll rip the map apart.
Ironically, seeing things from an eagle’s view costs you a lot of details that makes the map an individual. You’ll miss the rivers that give it life, the cool mountains that give it strength, the harsh deserts that burns your skin, and the forests that hides darkness in patches.
The face is a map too, maybe. A map of the forest to be exact. Faces can show a lot and yet hide so much. Just like forests, yes.
Just like how the ferns brush against visitors, your lashes brush the top of your cheeks.
Just like how the sunlight peeks in strips through the canopy, your smile brings me all the warmth you have to offer.
Just like the bare patches of ground that are remnants of life long gone, your scars serve as a reminder of your tribulations.
Just like how I can see the starry sky only when there is no light, the fact that only I memorise the freckles dusting your nose is what assures me only I have seen you this way.
If I could kiss the planes of your face, I would, but I have no right.
Not until I have unfolded your soul, and can trace by heart every detail in every grid.