Beauty and its beholder

Every time i hold her close enough to let her eyelashes stroke my cheeks, i wonder how i must look like in her eyes. Not that i bother but several thoughts run through my head while bliss is trapped by my marrow. Two of the most frequent thoughts happen to be "Is this really happening?" and "Don't you dare cry now!" To overcome them, i hold her closer than i did the last time we hugged. For what our bond is worth, my random yet inflated worries don't matter anyway. After all, she looks a lot like mine in my eyes. Who cares about her vision?