It's like she sees everything in him,
especially the good things
A part of her already sees through his facade,
she admires him for his kindness,
and yet few see beyond the layer
there over his heart
She may see the 'perfect' outer layer,
but she's came to really appreciate the inner layer
with an ease that he's never known
How can he not be stunned
when he hears her speak so highly of him?
How can his heart hope to stop racing
when she explains
so very naturally,
that she loves him,
loves him,
for his kindness,
not his father,
not his looks,
not his money,
and definitely not his fame
He wonders how a woman,
so kind,
so gentle,
with a touch softer than the finest feather pillows,
and much more precious
than the most priceless gems,
can even list such good qualities about him,
especially not the ones that everyone else sees,
and he wonders about how the black cat,
notoriously unlucky,
came to be lucky enough,
blessed enough,
to meet her,
the one with a heart so warm and loving,
that he's lost in it,
and he can't believe how his luck
seems turned around, twisted,
as if it were to rival Ladybug's luck now.