he doesn't know.

yes he's nice, but he doesn't know about the birthmark shaped like a dolphin on my left thigh, or the small scar on my pinkie, or the one hidden at the top of my forehead just barely hidden by my hair. he doesn't know how much i hate my crooked smile, or that my eyes are a brown so dark that they almost seem pure black if you stare into them for too long. he doesn't know the dreams i hold or the indescribable, giddy excitement i get at the thought of them. he doesn't know that the reason i sleep with a towel isn't just because of the comforting feeling, but to soak up the tears i cry into my pillow every night. he doesn't know what my true smile looks like. he doesn't know the details of me. so i will not allow him to make assumptions, or have opinions of me, as though he does.