She is everything when you think of a woman. Her face, glistening skin; soft and smooth, grace dripping out of every pore. She waves from soft to hard to soft in tone. Carefully crafted. Her lips part like the petals of rose. Her nose, carved in balance and at the end of it a tiny mole to make it eloquently beautiful. Her eyes hazel brown, always lit up with the ray of the sun and melt into the golden light. She is a picture perfect. Kinder to heart even in her worst and wild moods. But, with me, she is a fire, lurking to dissolve my bones. She is so much to love in a single life.

She was the art he created. She was Beethoven’s melody. She was Picasso’n painting and Socrate’s philosophy. She was in herself a galaxy, holding millions of stars shining bright in her eyes. She wasn’t God’s most dutiful creature but she was ‘his’ most beautiful miniature. In all of us a part of him exists.


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