O or objectification (Part 1)

I don't think I have seen you in person, otherwise I would have loved
you in first sight, it isn't I don't tend to like women in first
sight. I would have liked you inspite of your poems, just to sit
before you and look at your face, and when it would be evening and
only your eyes are visible a semi-composed unconscious half-uttered
verse might have left my half-parted lips on my fingertips over your
back. I would not have asked you what I meant as long as you
understood. I like the way you turn to look, it looks so natural, when
you let your hairs take care of themselves.

And because you look so different in each image, I wonder how it would be to have a conversation with you or to sit with you in the same class, how I
wished I were of your age, in your class, when you would not be
looking I would secretly look at you and would become your friend too,
and I would want to daydream of you; with you I would have only wanted
to remain friends because I would not want things to turn ugly between
us, so that we are always on talking terms.

There is a sadness in your eyes, still remaining after having cried for long, i would have pulled the zip over your face and pull the hood over your eyes and caress
your hairs on my lap; I would like you more during winters after you
wake up with your messy hairs and the little pout which you so badly
accomplish, with the sleep and dream equally longing in your eyes, or
be the sunshine on your cheeks or the rain and the rainbow in your
wings.

Sometimes I would look at your eyes and search what are you
searching for, you need not tell me. Or you look more alluring with
the thick dark circles and the long sleepiness in your eyes. Your head
full of hairs, like a young boy just before puberty, you look more
alluring with your trimmed tresses, the faraway look in your eyes,
which passes through people, beyond them. You could have tried to look
like a doll if you would have so wished, and made effort or when you
just pose with a smile pleasantly in your oversized jackets. You were
standing with one hand on your hips in the sun in the dust of the dry
mud lane through some fields which could have been any unnamed place,
I would have wanted to walk the path through the fields with you
during evening like two strangers, we could have kept silent and
talked when we felt like, not out of obligation like with acquaintance
or half-friends, we would have walked through the fields without
reference would be our conversation so that when our roads divulge we
won't know those particulars to search each other unless if our paths
ever cross and we remember each other. Then it would seem to me that
you were used to such superficial compliments.

*Let me know if you want to read more of my story :)