There wasn’t a word large enough to explain how thoroughly ensnared I was. I’d laid for hours memorizing the slope of her nose, the long spray of lashes, the tiny freckles dusting the bridge of her nose like stars in the night sky. Everything about her was like she’d been sculpted, right down to the divot of her Cupid’s bow. She wasn’t just perfect. She was what perfection dreamed about when it closed its eyes. It made my soul ache just to look at her.
