There were times that I came home and found her asleep.
The room would be cool, just the way she liked it, she would shove her legs into the comforter and snuggled onto the fluffy pillow she loved so much.
And there she was, her hand was clutching one pillow and her leg thrown over another. She had her hands folded near her cheek…she looked so peaceful. And beautiful.
She once asked me what I saw in her, that she had the most plain face, body and personality. She didn't get why I settled for her.
She was wrong, so very wrong.
She might not notice, but she had a little dimple on her left cheek that only showed when she was grinning so widely. Cute dimple that begged to be kissed. Cute dimple that showed I made her happy, genuinely so.
It made me sighed whenever I found her in deep slumber, when all the cease and worry line on her face disappeared completely and when her innocence were written all over her face. It was the time I was struck by how pure she was.
Sometimes, I'd brush a piece of fallen hair and kissed her cheek tenderly, sometimes she'd stir and showed me that sleepy-smile and kissed me softly on the lips, when that time came, usually I'd not be able to resist lying down with her and just enjoyed the quiet time together, holding her onto me, kissing her forehead. Or I'd caress the soft skin beneath me as we silently made love.
Some other time she was so deep in sleep that she didn't stir. When I wanted to just hold her, to feel the bliss of the dream she was having, I'd lie down beside her, gathered her to my arm, or hug her petite frame from behind. She might not notice, but when I did so, her hand would find mine, linking them together and she would lean to me. Sometimes she would let out a sigh of contentment, and my heart would swell in pride.
She might not notice, but whenever she linked her hand with me, or put her arms around me or simply laid her head against my shoulder, I felt needed.
I felt like a whole man.
She might not know it, but I knew her insecurity inside-out.
I knew she saw herself as plain-Jane, and she was worried whenever someone taller, slimmer, modelesque was being too friendly, too close to me. She held her head high though, never put a claim on me or demands my compliments or the like, she didn't let what worried her affected our relationship.
But I knew better, I needed to reassure her. I held her hand in public, not only because I wanted to ease her worry, but for my personal reason too, her touch eased me, it completed me. And through that gesture I told the world that she was mine.
She was mine.
She might not notice but she was perfect. She wasn't pushy but not a doormat, she knew when to keep me on my toes and when to fly me up to the sky.
And whenever I saw her waking up from her slumber with such purity and love in her eyes…I knew I was a right person for her too. Whenever she touched me, I knew I was what she needed. When she vent to me on the phone, I knew I was the person she thought and looked. The person she could trust with her whole-heart.
She might know it, and I know it too. I'm for her as much as she is for me.
A/N
Hello there.
I wrote this to keep writer's block under control. Yes, I know it's been a while. But academic life comes first and boy, it's very hectic. I promise I haven't abandoned my other stories, they are simply on hold until I've got things under control. Thank you for understanding (well, I hope you do!)
So, penny for your thought?