A Dose of Him in the Echo of My Mind

A letter/story I wrote in my head, while I was trying to write a story for school.

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 His eyes were the color of blue, that you can only see when the sky is reflecting a tiny bit of love and bliss. His hair stood on end, wind swept, of course, it was beautiful, nothing on him was plain or anything below the power of pretty. And his belly was bold, and his legs were short, and his face was sharp, though when he smiled, the world became peaceful, and not a bullet was shot, nor a razor to be slid across skin. With the details of a sculpted angel, he was a vision of extacy. He was rounded, with petite feet, and hands so small, they could fit in mine so well as if the Lord had prepared us to be. He sat alone in the corner of the library reading his book, he was alone. No one understood him. Though I did, because he was me, he had no where to run, he had no hope in his eyes, his crystal blue, perfectly amazing eyes. He flipped the page, and even though, on a normal person, it wouldn't have been the most important thing of the day to me, but because it was him, sweet beautiful him, I vowed to love the way he flipped the page of that book, and it was the most beautiful thing I had seen for hours. I think he caught me staring, with one beautiful strain of a muscle, his glance stuck me, he broke the glass barrier that surrounded me, and in a second, the wars and the hurt stopped, because he smiled at me, and I smiled back, but not as fashionably as him. He looked down, and without a doubt I knew on thing;

I was in love.

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