Chapter Fifty- The truth and only the truth 8
But if I were an artist, I would sculpt you to my satisfaction,
Pour gentleness in your eyes and paint you with passion,
The clay would be cracked, your heart blotted with mistakes, you would be beautifully flawed and in my eyes; perfection
Her eyes slowly peeled open and were immediately greeted by those icy blue orbs. He had propped himself up on his elbow to appreciate the view of her perfect, breathtakingly beautiful face; her soft emerald green eyes shimmering with admiration, her light, peachy, tousled hair, draping from her shoulder in messy, almost fuzzy waves, her very flattering nose which accentuates her beauty perfectly, then were her slightly bowed, plump, luscious lips which felt so succulent when
