He was hers
She was the first person to consider him as more than a simple blacksmith.
In her eyes, he wasn't Beckendorf.
He was Charlie.
Instead of hard, crackly hands,
they were symbols of a hard-worker.
His sharp edges were suddenly softened,
And what was previously known as a bulky frame
Turned into a teddy-bearish physique.
He found it kinda cute,
(But don't you DARE tell her he said that)
Then again, she could call him anything
And he would love it.
…
She was his
He was the first person to consider her as more than a ditzy head counselor of Aphrodite
In his eyes, she wasn't Silena
She was Beau.
Instead of seeing smooth, scar-less hands,
(To others they were signs of spoil)
They were signs of perfection
Naivety was suddenly turned into wisdom,
And what was previously known as the body of a sex symbol,
Turned into a body of an angel.
She found his compliments endearing,
(Probably because they were sincere,
{and not all about her body})
She was brilliant in his eyes, and she started to believe it,
Then again,
He could tell her anything and he could believe it.
…
His critical brown eyes
Were suddenly turned into gentile cocoa orbs.
Her innocent blue
Turned into a prudent indigo.
And instead of hiding in the forge,
He was teaching the young ones to build
She stopped sinking her nose into Vogue,
And became the Agony Aunt to the teens of camp
They changed each other
And changed themselves.
In each other's eyes,
They were more than Silena and Beckendorf.
