She loves the lines on his face, they tell her the story of his laughter. All the years etched in his bones, when he lived through his happily ever after,
Each tiny freckle on his skin, tells story of once upon a time, of days he smiled till his cheeks hurt, without a reason or rhyme
She loves the way his voice sounds, the way his heart pounds to a mention, a sketch, a sliver or a shadow from..long lost..but known grounds,
An instant of silence..then he moves on, with a wink and a chuckle the darkness is gone.
She loves the color of his eyes..they are like sunsets of their own, Warm and sad but glowing from the inside like a firestorm.
They shine and sparkle to his stories, like flames of a fire that is burning him, but also keeping him warm.
A state of mind resulting from romantic attraction, characterized by feelings of euphoria, the desire to have one’s feelings reciprocated, etc
Wandering between the chaos and cacophonies he drifted through life. Unlost yet captive. Till she waltzed into his commotion. Calmly taking charge, setting him free. All he saw was her eyes. Deep. Mysterious. He knew they were magic and was now bound. Under their spell he was lost and did not want to be found.
She was the kind of girl who smiled a lot.
when hurricanes moved through her thoughts and darkness crept on her mind..
Even the chaos around her paused to admire how well she fought
She was the kind of girl who had magic in her eyes.
When she stopped and looked at u, it was to decide whether to dance with your angels or to silence ur demons, even the ones in disguise.
She was the kind of girl who had fire in her soul.
She could read you layer after layer down to ur core, touch u in places that would leave u begging for more.
But would rather kiss ur lips while holding ur face and lie in your lap all day to talk about constellations and space
She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world when she wrote. She wrote because she needed to write, because she hoped someone will listen or because writing will mend something broken inside her or bring something back to life. She was stubborn, she was wise. She was immoderate and volatile. She spoke through her eyes, and mostly wore a disguise.
“I read her eyes like paragraphs and her tears like chapters, for she didn’t have much to say with words, but rather, silence. And never let them tell you that silence, isn’t beautiful. For silence is what happens when words fall asleep and you must carry the belief that one day they will wake up inside of you.”
Almost everyone who looks at us together thinks we are twins, almost everyone who knows us, says we behave like twins.
We think like each other, we look alike too. The owner of these eyes owns half of my heart too.
Our features are a little different but the eyes are very similar. They are beautiful and they are true.
They cry when they see my tears. They smile when there is a twinkle in my eyes. The good in me reflects in them, the bad is absorbed. These eyes show me love, and they show me care, they show me that even when no one is around they are always going to be there!
These eyes see my dreams with me. They believe in them coming true.
She isn’t my twin or even my sister, but she is someone who makes my life whole.
Thank God for best friends, Thank God for you Poo!