Perspective (MJ)

Her Perspective

It is night where I am now, so I was able to write this short chapter. This is a little different from what I have ever written in romance before but I still hope you enjoy it. This book is just about Michael's beauty, (it is a story but does not have all qualities of a story) and the acceptance of it. It does make me feel quite sad that he didn't believe that he was beautiful but through my writing of this chapter, I believe that some part of him did accept his appearance.

Her Perspective

The crystal, sparkling stars that dazzle across the dark velvet sky reminds me of the sacred beauty in his glistening eyes filled with so much innocence, it's almost if I could shed a few tears before he does. Sweet melodies of the gentle sounding waves along with the still ambience which the smooth, navy blue ocean informs me through transmitting soft sounds into my ear drums that miniscule and glitter tears have managed to escape out from the rim of his slightly swollen sockets. A heavy sigh that emits from his congested chest tells me how much raging emotion he has attempted to let out. I can't say how my feelings are played in this situation of misery. I can only say that it's a doubt that anything will be felt; nothing is felt, it is all numb.

My fingertips trace the stitches, that were skillfully created with my torn fingers, on the delicate cloth of his ivory shirt. He shivers under my tentative yet swift touch. His heartbeat pounds against my skin, roars through my silent ears-I can't admit how he is making me feel. My hands touch the soft skin on his face which is now damp with saddened tears. My tries to kiss them away aren't succeeding-he's still crying and I know; I allow him to cry inaudibly as my belief to not let emotions build inside you are truthful. His anxiety is calming down when I start to run my fingers round his thick, bouncy curls. Hyperventilation of breaths are now slowing down, tears are drying, echoes of sadness are fading away to nothing more.

I place a shaky kiss on the bridge of his slightly broad nose. A prevention from meeting my lips with his is instantly stopped by the quick thoughts of what this moment is actually about. A few giggles are left out of my mouth for no reason whatsoever when I gently bump and rest my forehead against his. Perhaps it's because no matter what emotion his facial expression is showing, he always looks adorably cute. The palms of my hands rub his ears-somehow they feel cold, and I believe I can change the temperature of it.

He sighs in relief; a small smile plays on his beautifully curved lips. I gently stroke his cheek, clearly hearing the sounds of bristles of his small hairs brushing across each other. He's so handsome. And it shocks me to think that he will not believe it.

Eyes, dark and mysterious gaze into mine, whilst my nervous, hesitant ones return the look. I'm trying to make out what emotion is shining through his magical eyes. My eyes travel down to his lips, sweet and full. Hands wrapped around his bare neck, I stand on my tip toes and press my trembling lips against his. He does not pull away and neither do I. The tip of his tongue swiftly brushes across my lips, making my want for him much more stronger. His hands grip my waist, sighing at the increasing speed of the movement of our lips. He's telling me that he loves me-but still doesn't believe the precious beauty on his face.

As our kiss intensifies, love in our hearts begins to. I'm telling him a story through this intimacy, a story which says that he's beautiful in every, single way. That he has to believe it. With shaking hands, I remove his shirt, feeling the heat from his skin hit against mine. I touch his dark skin, his toned chest; my lips kiss deeply on his neck as he is in the process of taking off parts of my clothing.

It's more than desire, immense compared to the idea of lust in this moment, neither of the two, it's just a want, a need, for us to be close, our bodies pressed together, laying in each other's comforting presence.

-

I tense when he carries me in his arms and then lays me onto the soft material which is used for tranquil sleep. He caresses my face, gently kissing my lips. His rapid inhales and exhales are mixing with mine. His eyes are now readable. I know he's trying to accept himself-and that makes me happy, knowing that a part of him is learning to believe that he is not a hideous creation. He's trying. My arms wrap around his muscular back and I bring him close to the front of my body, tenderly kissing his forehead. His curls tickle the front of my face which makes me squirm, causing the both of us to lowly chuckle.

He places me under the velvet covers, that stand vividly in the darkness of this room, pressing his body close to mine. It's as if we're in a world of our own, where interruption does not exist, non acceptance does not exist.

Only we exist.

He touches me beautifully.

I am set on fire.

I touch my lips with his, whispering to him. "You're so beautiful."

And he raises his head, and smiles.

"I'm beginning to believe it. An acceptance of my appearance has formed in my heart, and I do know that beauty does shine within me."