She was like a piece of art to me. Art was made to inspire you. She inspired me like no other.

I loved the way her nose would crinkle whenever she laughed. I loved the way her laugh would softly ring through my ears. I loved the way she would giggle softly at my silly jokes. I loved her smile. It was the brightest smile I had ever seen.

I adored her freckles. She’d always tell me she was insecure about them, but to me they looked like constellations on her skin. There were times when I would trace them with my fingers unconsciously. I would do it on purpose sometimes, because I knew she was ticklish.

I loved her eyes. Whenever she stood in the sunlight, little specks of gold would reflect in her eyes. They looked like little stars shining bright in a galaxy. There were times when I would get lost in them. It would feel like I was lost in another universe. A place where only she and I existed. Her eyes were like the door to her soul. She was a sensitive person, so I could easily tell by the look in her eyes how she was feeling at that moment. That’s what I liked about her. She wasn’t scared to show and express her emotions.

I loved her voice. It was like my own personal lullaby. She was always too shy to sing, but at times she would softly hum a sweet melody. It was soothing to listen to her voice, hearing it eased all of my troubled thoughts.

I loved her hair. I loved the way a single strand of hair could fall so perfectly to the side of her face and she wouldn’t even notice. I loved the way she would blush whenever I tucked a small strand of hair behind her ear. I loved the way her hair looked in the morning. She’d always complain about her bed head, but I found it simply adorable.

She was a simple woman with complicated thoughts. I always tried my best to figure her out. She was like an open book at times, and at other times she’d seem like a diary with a tight lock on it. Only accessible to those who dared to enter some of her darkest thoughts and secrets.

She was like a piece of art to me, but I wasn’t the first one to paint her world. Others had been here before me. Some left dark marks on her canvas, other left scratches which were impossible to fix. She was a perfectly imperfect creation. Shaped by her actions, molded by her heart and colored by her own thoughts.

I was like a piece of art to him and he was the artist. He painted my world with all kinds of colors. He made my world a brighter and better place. He made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. He would always make sure to shower me with compliments and kisses. He was always there for me.

He was like a piece of art to me. He was the most beautiful creature I had ever laid my eyes on.

I loved the way he moved. There was something magical about it. The way he danced was so captivating, mesmerizing, enchanting… There could be an entire room filled with people, but he would be the only one to catch my eye. I loved the way his hand would slowly inch towards mine, as if silently asking for permission to hold my hand. I loved the way he would tuck a fallen piece of hair behind my ear. He would always look me in the eyes with an adoring look afterwards, which made me blush slightly.

I loved the way a small piece of hair would stand up at the back of his head in the morning. I would always chuckle at the sight and he would give me a questioning look. I loved the way a strand of hair would far in front of his eyes whenever he danced. Too concentrated to move it out of the way.

I loved his eyes. They were like a mysterious faraway place. Dangerous to enter, impossible to leave. I loved the way he looked at me whenever I told him a story. His expression would always soften a little bit. I loved the way he would give me a cheeky wink whenever he was sitting across the room from me. I loved the little scar beside his eye which he had gotten as a kid. He would make sure to tell me that story over and over again. I would always roll my eyes, but I secretly loved it whenever he told me these cute little stories.

I loved the way he could be so passionate about something. He would always frown slightly whenever he concentrated. He seemed to get lost in his own little world. It would take him a while to notice my gaze. Whenever he did notice, he would always give me this sheepish look, slightly embarrassed that I had caught him.

He was an abstract piece of art. He was special in his own way. He was fascinating to look at. Once I got to know him, I kept on finding new pieces to the puzzle. Slowly I got to figure him out.

He was like a piece of art to me. I wasn’t the first one to draw on his canvas, but I hope I will be the last one to paint his world.