She came home with her clothes ragged, dirt on her nose. Eyes piercing blue, lips cherry red. Soft smiles; gentle voice. Hoarse with fear. She was damaged.
Clothes torn off, battered body soothed by warm soapy water that held sweet stories. Gazing at me. She asked, in that delicate pink and green voice of hers; "Am I okay?"
She was warm. I kissed her.
"You are, petal. You are."
She smiled hugely, so brightly that it made me blush.
Her voice was like a flower, weaved into gently brushed curls. Delicate and sweet, she was a beautiful creation that made my heartbeat speed up. When she winked, i very nearly fainted, for my mind was filled with thoughts of: "kiss her!!" "cuddle her!" "she's perfect!"
She was always in full bloom, never crushed. Dainty and soft, but strong and courageous.
I loved her.
Our wedding was a quiet one, filled with dresses and hands joined for a dance. Golden rings and pretty things,
we were happy together.
