You've seen me in pretty dresses. With my hair just right and my make-up defining my eyes in the evening light. Confident and happy and secure.
You've seen me in my hiking boots. Half covered in mud and pieces of trees. Skin shining with sweat and sunscreen. My face red with exertion and my breath coming fast and loud.
You've seen me in my pajamas. All twisted around the wrong way from tossing in my sleep. Red lines on my face from the pillow and crazy, crazy hair. Crusty bits in my eyes and my voice husky from sleep.
You've seen me after too much caffeine. Fidgeting in the seat next to you and talking much too fast. Smiling until it hurts.
And you've seen my fighting sleep. Trying to stay up that extra hour or two just to be with you. Losing the battle until I'm sleeping and you're watching the movie alone.
And even times when my shirt is wet with tears. Snot leaking out of my nose and words almost indecipherable between the hiccups and the shudders.
You've seen me full of joy. Dancing and laughing and joking in jeans and a t-shirt.
Or after too much alcohol. When I tell you all my secrets and giggle as the room sways.
You've seen me full of anger and hurt. Raising my voice and telling you how awful everyone else is until the moment I deflate and apologize for the rant.
You've seen me cry because of you. When I cling to you and don't want the hug to end, even though I am hurt and you did it.
And you've seen my quiet and content. Reading or singing or watching a movie and just smiling because I'm happy, and not because anyone is watching.
You've seen so much more.
After all that, why can't you tell me you love me?