Because of him, I can't seem to face the burdens. He sees me--the purity in my soul, my eyes drawing him to the natural existence of life. Jaded, green eyes composed and mixed into colors of warmth and desire are reaching out to be held by those who dare care, wanting to escape from a world full of death and destruction. We're humans surviving, devouring little scraps plucked from an unfruitful tree, watching bluebirds fly into the heavens as they navigate through ashes and dust of pain and despair. But he sees the imperfection, the weaknesses, the detailed blemishes that I myself can't even boldly accept. This man sees what others cannot; the beauty out of life, the promises of light beckoning in our slumber for a better tomorrow. He sees all through our eyes, my eyes, which must face the burdens I keep inside so he can love the human hidden within my soul, confined underneath stones and bricks too heavy for anyone to lift, except him. Because of this, of him, he's all I see. Because of him, I see what needs to be seen, hear what needs to be heard. I want all of him if not every part of who is--what he seems to be. So let him live within this world of breathing and dying souls, within this earth of mountains and valleys that need a man with working and healing hands--all that he can offer. His death will only result in grief, one that I as well will never be able to handle.