His hair may be the wildest thing about him. They bore a striking resemblance to very pale leaves, once they were crushed and oozing.
They swept up his head, unbound by forces wishing to tame it.
His pale brown eyes lit up my world, not like stars or fireworks, but the way the right angle of sunlight changes your mind about the beauty in the landscape.
He was strong, yet gentle - the ache in his hands molded not through labor, but through patience.
He lives the way water trickles down a stream and the way the clouds give way to the wind - forever yielding to the forces behind it,
but never once forgetting what he is or making the world know his presence.
And when he swept me off my feet, in all my rugged, broken glory, he smiled like an angel and saved me from the shackles that bound me to this earth. And gave me a home.
Her lips may be the kindest thing about her. They hold back nothing and yet serve as guards for her tireless and temperamental tongue. They feel like a dream when they kiss me.
Her eyes are dipped in starlight. They burn, not the way fire seeks to harm, but like a hot bath that relaxes the body after a long day.
She lives like a firebird, leaving ashes in her wake and never letting her feet find comfort in soil. Her eyes never leave you even when you are no longer with her.
They stay, marking you as one who passed her - you will never escape her. Her hair is a raven waterfall that cascades down a cliff of jagged edges and bits of unfiltered attitude.
Her feet stand square with determination and pride, not the way a queen delivers law, but the way soldiers defend justice.
And when she dug her fingers into my arm until I could feel blood because weakness was not an option, she broke the chains that bound me to this earth. And set me free.