Love, Short stories

A starry night

I gazed towards the sky – a copious of twinkles painted across the pitch black.

The sky was beautiful, wasn’t she?

A piece of vacuous sheet – barren and dull.

Yet the tiny, seemingly trivial specks lit it up so elegantly that my eyes couldn’t help but rivet themselves on her.

I felt a nuzzle against my chest – a warm familiar touch to my skin.

A head of messy, black tresses sprawled across my shirt. Bits of freckles planted across her cheeks, and nose – which was a little buttoned. Her lips were a little too thin, and pale. Her eyelashes were a little too short – too short for a woman.

That was how she described herself.

But I saw her differently.

She had a magnificent mane of raven black locks. The freckles that dotted her skin complemented her eyes, she had a cute nose – if one could describe a nose this way. Her lips were vehement, when touched they would send a warm tingle down my skin. Her eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a butterfly.

She was beautiful, she just couldn’t see it.

But I could.

Like how I saw the beauty of the stellar night sky.

She was that night sky. She could only see the pitch dark, yet not the stars that glittered on it – she couldn’t see the parts of her that dazzled so brilliantly.

But I was the man on Earth, a man who could see everything from down below. I saw a piece of obscurity dabbed with radiance – a perfect complement of the two.

She couldn’t see it.

 But she was my starry night sky.

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