He catches me looking and it's too late to turn away. Turning away is off the table because I'm already caught. I pull my lips up into a smile of my own instead.

I find myself looking at him deeper. The sky behind him is painted in light blues and pale yellows. The sun is nearly ready to set, but I can't find myself caring. The sun could produce the most beautiful of sunsets but it wouldn't even compare to the perfection of the man in front of me.

Why would I bother with the blue of the sun when I can look at the green in his eyes? The sun couldn't begin to paint the shade of green if it wanted to. It sparkles and breathes. The green is alive and wanting and feeling. Nothing can compare.

Why would I bother with the yellows and tans in the sky when I can look at his skin? Blemishes and tan marks and freckles are beautiful on him. He wears them proudly and it makes him more beautiful.

Why would I bother with the red hue in the sun when I can look at his lips? The lips of an angel. Large and red and glossy. I'm convinced he's added something to them. After all, I've never seen a man with such pink lips before, but I don't mind. I can't bring myself to care in the slightest. Eleanor could only dream of having lips like his. So kissable. So wonderful. I find myself drawn to them.