The poetry of a dead man [h.s]

The art of living

7 years prior

The last year had been the most incredible year in Harry's life, and he was certain that he would say the same next year, and the year after that, and all the years to come after that. Lenore became his, and he became hers in a way that not even the most beautifully written poem could describe. He could not even describe it himself.

All he knew was that he woke up thinking about her, he went to work thinking about her, he came home thinking about her, he fell asleep thinking about her, and he killed thinking about her. It was the most surreal thing he had ever experienced. Lenore was everything and then some to him, and he cherished every moment with her.

If the moon never beamed again, it would not matter to him for she already was the light in the darkness.

If the stars never shone again, it would not matter to him for her eyes were brighter than any star to be seen in the sky.

If the sun never rose again, it would not matter to him for the feeling she caused in his chest was the same as feeling the rays of the sun hitting his skin.

No, the world could end for all he cared for he had her, and he would do everything in his power to always have her, to always cherish her, to always love her.

So, today, on their one-year anniversary he planned on doing just that. Today he would ask her to be his forever.

He had it all planned out, he had been planning it for months now. Lenore had been the one in their relationship pushing them forward, taking all the steps. He was too much of a coward most of the time to make any himself for he did not feel deserving of being loved by someone as pure as Lenore.

He might have not felt deserving of Lenore's love, but she deserved all the love in the world. That is why he wanted to do this for her, for them. He wanted her to know just how much he loved her and asking her to marry him felt like a good start in doing so, in addition to the art he had been making for her.

He asked her to meet him at the library at 7. On Fridays they always had date nights, but he made up an excuse saying that he would need to stay late tonight and asked her if she would mind coming to him so that they could go out as soon as he was done. They would not go out.

No, he had moved a small table to the back of the library where his favorite books were. He had lit candles, bought some wine, and had food from their favorite restaurant ready to be delivered there any minute now.

Although he felt giddy, he was also nervous. To him, this was a good plan, but he feared that Lenore would not see it the same way. He knew he was being foolish; he knew Lenore would love it, but he could not help but think that she deserved something bigger, something more extravagant.

As everything was set up and the food had been delivered, Lenore arrived right on time. She was dressed in a black dress, one that fit her curves like it had been sculpted on her. His heart took an extra beat over seeing her, he would never get enough of seeing her. Lenore belonged in a museum, and she already had a place in the wicked one in his head.

As she got closer to him, he could see the smile growing on her lips as she took in the scene in front of her. "Hi baby." He said, rubbing his hands slowly up and down her arms before capturing her lips in a sweet kiss. "Hi." She smiled against his lips. "I thought you would be busy with work?" She asked confused, taking a glance at the table and then back to him. His hands continued their pattern on her arms, he always wanted to touch her in some way.

"Finished up earlier than I thought so I figured I would surprise you instead of us going out." The way she looked at him with so much love only reinforced his feeling that he was doing this right, that Lenore would not care that he proposed to her here, that she would love whatever as long as they were together. "It's perfect Harry, thank you."