Why can’t I see the little things? If I could it would all seem alright. When I really look I see all of the good things and nothing else is there. A hand on your face. Your feet neatly under the table. I observe you in your little world. You think of something funny and then you look up at me. You ask me something and I respond, but I don’t want you to disturb my watching. I can see you from here. And I realize sometimes my perspective is not coming from the right place.