Because you only see what is right in front of you,
a horse with blinders on.
While I labor my love for you, in your peripheral vision,
only occasionally darting in front of you,
enough to be noticed momentarily,
but not enough to truly capture your attention,
for my feet have always been quick and my lungs strong,
and while they serve me well,
often I find myself wishing I would remember to run slower, perhaps to run not at all,
To grace your field of vision longer,
maybe even long enough to be recognized,
for my face to be studied,
Perhaps even remembered.
Alas,
I have my mother's long legs,
my father's determinedness to keep a straight face
and a cowardice that is all my own.
