She could read his silence; a warm calm benevolence

He was a perfectionist of the little things, to him, nothing mattered, no balloons, ribbons or rings.

She wasn’t the brightest mind, their connect was just one of a kind.

The gift of words, missed his door, but God gave him eyes that could never bore.

She was expressive, spoke her heart out, he listened to her go on and on, with mere fondness no doubt.

Even when she was in rage, nothing in him did she wish to change.

In him she saw-what the sun saw in the sea, created their own horizon, and there, he met she.

Into oblivion he made her fall, he actually said it best, when he said nothing at all.