Shireen Manocha
He looks like the sunset.
His hair a lighter tone of the colour of his skin, and his eyes a calming amalgamation of crimson and hazel,
He looks like the sun setting deep into the waters, making you stare at it for long, long evenings.
He sounds like honey.
He sounds like honey.
All his words weaving deep into each other forming sentences that are music to your ears, his voice is the voice of a flowing sweetness.
He sounds like the crackling laughter of a baby, making you want to listen to more and more of the pointless stories.
He smells like new books.
He smells like new books.
New books and the rain.
He emanates the kind of smells that make you feel nostalgic and refreshed at the same time,
He smells of untold tales and of memories of the past, and you want to sit there and inhale it deeply.
He is what perfection looks like, sounds like, smells like, to you.
He is what perfection looks like, sounds like, smells like, to you.
He has many a flaws and imperfections, pointed out by so many others, but you do not seem to notice them, and when you do actually notice them, you ask your mind to shut up and overlook them,
Because he resembles the waves of the aggressive ocean, that make you feel passionate and joyful at the same time.
He is yours.
Yours alone.
He is yours.
Yours alone.