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.
She didn’t know what she was seeking, didn’t know if she had any questions but the sea was calling and knew she would find some answers..
The waves knew all her secrets, the sand had heard her stories patiently every time she had no one to tell them to.
The beach was sprinkled with smiles, intertwined hands, and promises of eternity..drenched in the golden hue. The sun was kissing the sea good night.
She sat on the sand breathing in the romance.
In the moment best viewed by two, she thought of the one she wanted to be there with. Maybe that was the question which was lashing with the waves.
She filled her lungs with a deep breath of salty air and decided, she didn’t want just anyone there. She wanted someone who would rather be there than anywhere else in the world. Someone who couldn’t imagine being with anyone else but with her.
She knew she deserved her moment in the sunshine
She had a smile that twinkled at the curve of her lips. A laugh..like when happiness tickled a kid.
The dark of her eyes was sad mostly but sometimes it sparkled. Like she was trying to break away and yet was in love with her shackles.
She was hurt, broken into pieces in parts unknown, yet holding it together like repaired with gold.
He knew she was torn, ruptured, and damaged.. but all he could see was how beautifully she was sewn!
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.