He was the perfect height for her.
Tall enough that her head fell
Right tight under his sculpted chin
But not so tall that he was called "giant".
She was the perfect shape for him.
Not so skinny that he worried
About breaking her bones with a hug,
But curvy in all the places
That made him say a throaty "whoa".
She was a bookworm who loved TV.
He was a chef who loved Mac and Cheese.
They both adored animals,
Though he might have loved reptiles just a little too much.
And they both hated politics,
Though she might have set fire
To one too many campaign signs.
They argued about music, money, and kids.
They debated the merits of dancing in the rain.
They held hands in the moonlight,
And kissed at midday.
They grew old together and never strayed
Too far from the home they had built.
Then one day his chin wasn't high enough
For her head to fit snuggly below.
Her dresses, though comely,
No longer made him say "whoa".
But they still held hands and kissed
And remembered the days of their youth
When they were still learning
What being perfect for each other meant.
It wasn't until the night her heart gave out,
That she realized how he was perfect for her.
It wasn't his charm and dashing good looks,
Or his witty retorts and clever touchés,
But the simple fact
That through all of the years,
He loved her,
And that made him perfect for her.
It wasn't until she took her last breath,
That he understood how perfect she'd been.
She was perfect not because of her curves,
Her smile, her laugh, or her intelligence.
She was perfect for him because she loved him.
They'd been perfect in each other's eyes
Because love is blind.
And sometimes that's not a bad thing.