I used to think no one was perfect. The idea of perfect being so distant from reality. Like the stars shining in the sky that continued on indefinitely, his love for me is shocking. Like the sharp winter air that cuts words in half rendering me and the rest speechless.
Every inch of him flows with passion, like he wants to change the world but is too afraid to admit it. He doesn't share his opinions with me because he's afraid I'll get upset, but really he could persuade me in an instant.
He once told me that if I looked at his smile long enough, I'd see it's flaws.
But I don't.
And everytime he brushes my hair away from my face the leaves fall just as hard as I did. And when he passes by me in the halls his eyes light up like flowers able to bloom for the first time. His hands are like roots in a tree, strong enough to hold but not enough to hurt. They hold me up like no one else can and for that I am grateful.
And he calls me beautiful.
To me I could never live up to that powerful of a word but in his eyes I guess I can.
And he's perfect.
Take one look at him and you'll see. Don't look too hard though. He's mine.