Feb 2014
He studies her.
She is sitting just across from him, re reading the same book for the 12th time.
Literally.
She is always finding a new book, and if it was really good, it was all she would talk about. He loves that about her.
The way her long, dark blonde hair contrasted her structured cheek bones. He loves the way that her eyes turn dark green when she cries, and when she’s smiling, the way you can see her small dimples.
He loves the way she wears his shirts around the house.
He loves the way she lights candles, because she thinks the house smells “beautiful.”
“Babe, do you want some tea?” he asks, reaching across the table to hold her hand. Her nails are a pastel coral.
He loves the way pink looks on her.
“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.” She says, looking up from her book and smiling at him.
He stood up, and walked over to the white tiled counter that had his Canon on it. He loves taking pictures of her. He prepares the camera.
He notices the way her large white sweater droops over her shoulders, exposing her pale skin. You can almost see through her, like she’s some kind of glass you don’t want to break.
The whole kitchen was completely white.
But it didn’t look weird.
She had put up little drawings of cute things, like pugs, cats, poetry she had written, all in pastel colors. The sun from the window was hitting her face perfectly, and he takes a few pictures. She acknowledges him taking the pictures, and just continues to read.
“God, you’re beautiful. You know that, right?” He mumbles, while facing the kettle.
“I don’t think beautiful is a word to describe me, baby.” She responds, looking over her shoulder to see him.
She admires the way his curls were wild and rugged when he didn’t brush his hair. Or the way you could see his tattoos through his white shirts, when he wore them. She admires the way he tries to impress her by doing silly things.
She admires the way his dimples show when he gets really excited and happy, and the way his green eyes could make any girl swoon.
Quite often, she thinks about how he could have any girl he wanted, yet he chose her, in all her glory.
m.g.
She is sitting just across from him, re reading the same book for the 12th time.
Literally.
She is always finding a new book, and if it was really good, it was all she would talk about. He loves that about her.
The way her long, dark blonde hair contrasted her structured cheek bones. He loves the way that her eyes turn dark green when she cries, and when she’s smiling, the way you can see her small dimples.
He loves the way she wears his shirts around the house.
He loves the way she lights candles, because she thinks the house smells “beautiful.”
“Babe, do you want some tea?” he asks, reaching across the table to hold her hand. Her nails are a pastel coral.
He loves the way pink looks on her.
“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.” She says, looking up from her book and smiling at him.
He stood up, and walked over to the white tiled counter that had his Canon on it. He loves taking pictures of her. He prepares the camera.
He notices the way her large white sweater droops over her shoulders, exposing her pale skin. You can almost see through her, like she’s some kind of glass you don’t want to break.
The whole kitchen was completely white.
But it didn’t look weird.
She had put up little drawings of cute things, like pugs, cats, poetry she had written, all in pastel colors. The sun from the window was hitting her face perfectly, and he takes a few pictures. She acknowledges him taking the pictures, and just continues to read.
“God, you’re beautiful. You know that, right?” He mumbles, while facing the kettle.
“I don’t think beautiful is a word to describe me, baby.” She responds, looking over her shoulder to see him.
She admires the way his curls were wild and rugged when he didn’t brush his hair. Or the way you could see his tattoos through his white shirts, when he wore them. She admires the way he tries to impress her by doing silly things.
She admires the way his dimples show when he gets really excited and happy, and the way his green eyes could make any girl swoon.
Quite often, she thinks about how he could have any girl he wanted, yet he chose her, in all her glory.
m.g.
