Pens tended to scribble out nonsensical things, still her words spoken in writing with trepidation meant so much.
Francis even found his own breath catching as he stared at her handwriting, so rough yet so pretty; it definitely suited her.
His own heart was easily overwhelmed, and he knew despite that that he loved her, his precious Jeanne that words could never really catch perfectly nor paint capture her beauty.
He smiled at those words that promised so much in a simple confession.
Only hearts seemed to know this so beautifully and were able to define such feelings.
She smiled as she stared at him, feeling her gaze be returned and spreading a delicate blush on gentle seeming skin.
She was strong and perfectly became his other half, molded to perfectly fit in his arms.
Beauty could become everything with how internal it was.