Perfect Isn’t Real, But You Sure Come Close

everything about him was surreal. from his ocean foam eyes to his curly mess of hair to the freckles dancing on his cheeks. the way he laughed, and smiled, and spoke, and hummed along to his favorite songs when they came on the radio. the way he would pause for a minute, look at you, then rush over and kiss you like you were his oxygen. the way he would squeeze you tight and make you feel safe. the first time he held your hand and every time after. the way he would care for you and remind you that you are his princess and treat you like one, even when you tell him he doesn't have to because you are happy just spending time with him. and fuck, he was perfect. but not the kind of perfect that you lusted over. it was the kind that made waking up in the morning worth it; the kind that was brighter than the stars would ever be; the kind that could spark a flame in your life that would make all the dark nights warm. he was the kind of perfect that made you fall in love and never let go.