Can you see me?

I look at you and my face cracks with a smile I feel everywhere.

I look at you and I feel pride and contentment knowing I am at your side.

I look at you and I know I could look at you always.

I see you holding our daughter to your chest. Rocking her, eyes closed.

I see you working to do the things you feel you must do as a man. To “provide” for us. Even though I work full-time, too.

I see you cursing under your breath when you come home to a sink full of dishes. Again. And the box of diapers the came three days ago is still sitting by the front door, not put away.

I see you. You who, like me, is just trying to get through. Trying to learn about yourself. And us. And her. You, who is just trying to be who you want, who you thought you’d be. Trying to be who I thought you’d be.

Sometimes I look at you and it’s so hard to see you through the layers of life we’re living.

There are moments when we don’t see each other at all.

And then you stop. And you look at me. Our eyes meet, and I can see you again.

And maybe you see me.