She never considered herself good with words.
She was more of a visual person. Images and colors were her means of self-expression. Her pictures, no matter how seemingly casual, were mirrors to her soul.
But verbalizing her thoughts was something particularly challenging. It wasn't that she lacked the intellect as much as it was she struggled to find the right way to express it. Whenever she tried writing, she found the outcome to be too simplistic compared to the actual depth of her feelings.
It was a depth she recognized and felt.
A depth that she could paint with colors and videos instead.
Nonetheless, she put in her all. Every sentence was constructed with love and effort embedded in each word and space.
James was the opposite.
Although not as skilled in visual arts, he made up for it with his way with words. They were both intelligent individuals who simply excelled in different means of showcasing their mind.
For him, words came so naturally. He had written songs in the past within minutes. But he was not one to leave anything he produced raw and half-baked. In fact, neither were.
His gift in writing extended into an appreciation for every detail and phrase. So even if he could have (and had) sprung out songs within just a day, it took him weeks--even months to actually be satisfied with his work as each line went through a mirage of revisions.
Nadine wasn't any different with her travel videos and even in photography. For a single scene she could have as much as 15 shots with the slightest of differences.
The possibilities of what the lenses could capture were endless and it toyed with her. So rather than be satisfied with one route, she crossed every single path and left deciding until after having experimented with every possible method.
James found her eye for photography and art endearing. It prompted him to look at the world in a more abstract sense and see beyond the boundaries.
He garnered an appreciation for the visual arts too and worked to match her skill. And likewise, she made her attempts in writing to paint with words rather than solely images.
In fairness, they both improved in time.
Perhaps it was the perfectionist in her that developed with her high mastery in visual arts, but Nadine was never quite satisfied with the writing she produced. She felt she could do better and felt frustrated as she knew she exerted as much effort as humanly possible.
But despite her insecurities, James adored her writing.
He loved seeing her run out of her comfort zone and try something challenging and new. And whenever she read him the poems, letters, and songs she produced, he listened attentively and tenderly smiled.
He'd lay a kiss on her forehead and tell her he loved it. And that writing was more than purple prose and complex use of imagery.
Writing requires heart and effort, he reminded. No matter how extensive one's vocabulary was, if they lacked the passion it would show, he'd add. And after his mini spiel, he'd kiss her on the forehead and reiterate the point every time she grumbled.
Concise but meaningful is what he he used to describe her writing every time as he felt her love and dedication radiating off every seemingly simple sentence.
And his encouragements also propelled her to smile and thank him for his constant support.
He was immensely loving and was in every sense her everything--the love of her life, her partner in crime, her best friend, her shoulder to cry on, her rock.