"Tell me, do you love me?" she asks.
And the questions takes longer to register than it should. His expression blanks and he licks his lips. How does one even answer such question? He feels stupid sitting here, in front of her, not being able to answer something seemingly so simple.
But how can he? How does he even start? One word won't explain what he feels. It's simply not enough, no words will ever be. He wishes he was someone great, someone who could find the words he needed, tell her all she wants to hear. Or maybe she doesn't want to hear those kind of words. She deserves to, that he knows.
She deserves to know about the way her eyes sparkle each time something grips her attention. Its almost always there, when she speaks about her favourite show or how her project is going. He could look at her eyes for ages, forever and never get tired of them. He is sure no-one could. She is sure that the brown in them is nothing special and each day he wishes to show her that she's wrong. Because not one person he met in his life had eyes this bright and alive. And whenever they're not this way, his heart still soars with joy when he looks at them, no matter if they are clouded with concentration or frustration.
Perhaps he could tell her about her hair. Its soft and no matter how she cuts or dyes it, he loves the way it looks. When she lets it go long and it frames her shoulders and face so beautifully or when she cuts it short for the summer and it gets spiky and flower crowns fit so nicely on it. He likes it all the same when its blond, red or black and green. He likes it when she braids it or has it in a ponytail or lets it be as it is. It doesn't matter if it gets messy or a bit greasy when she's so busy with her studies and job she can't find time to wash it.
He could tell her about her voice. How pretty it sounds. How he loves listening to her talk, about anything. Whatever she wants to talk about, it doesn't matter if he agrees or disagrees with the matter, he'll hear her out. Because its her voice and how can he not love it? How can he not listen to every single word that comes out of her mouth?
Her smile and laugh makes him melt all the same. Each time she smiles at him when she greets him and every time she laughs at something he said, he finds himself so proud of being capable of bringing her joy. Its all the same when someone else brings out a laugh from her. And while he can't stop that stinging feeling of jealousy, he can hold it for himself. He cannot and will not dictate her who to laugh with, what right has he to take away joy from her life.
He can talk for hours, about her hands and her legs. All the same for how insanely smart she is and how much work she can do. How many talents she has. For any and each part of her, he finds something extraordinary, something worth loving with all his heart. Because its part of her. How can he not love something, anything if its part of her? It all seems perfect in his eyes and his heart seems to agree.
"Do you?" She asks again, her head tilting to the side as he studies his expression. He wonders what kind of face is he making. But it doesn't matter, she is too smart to not figure him out. She wouldn't be asking if she didn't know.
"I do. With each and every part of my soul. With every breath I take and every beat of my heart. I love you." He can't lie to her and he doesn't. Whatever it takes, he'll remain honest and open with her. She doesn't deserve anything less.
"I'm sorry." She says. He knows she is. He never will blame her.
