The Cost Of Seeing

I can see.

It’s not what most people would call an achievement.

But to me,

It’s better than riches or fame or anything else in this world.

I can finally see

The white clouds floating in blue sky,

That I’ve only heard of.

The bittersweet coffee brown,

That I’ve only tasted.

The soft pastel colored clothes on me,

That I’ve only felt.

I can finally see.

I can finally see.

So where did you go?

I can read the books that you liked.

I can watch the movies that you enjoyed.

But if I can’t see the face that my hands are most familiar with,

Then I might as well be blind again.

I promised that you’d be the first person I see.

We waited months and months for this gift.

The doctor always said,

“Only those who have passed can grant your wish.”

I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to recognize you,

But you told me not to worry.

When I went into surgery, I asked for you.

The doctor said,

“He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming.”

I woke up to find a note in my hand.

“Didn’t I tell you that I was handsome?

Look in the mirror and you’ll find me.”

I looked at my reflection and called for you.

The doctor pointed to my eyes and said,

“He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.”

Both our wishes have been granted now.

I can see and you can always be able to see me.

But had I known that the cost of seeing

Was to spend the rest of my life alone.

Then I would have asked for riches or fame or anything else in this world.

At least then,

I’d still be able to hear you whisper,

“I love you.”