Painting Flowers

He'd always loved her. The way she always seemed to be on his mind always caused pleasant feelings to course through him. He knew from the moment he met her that he'd cherish her forever. He'd go to great lengths for her.

He'd die for her.

He would find himself trudging through the corridors of his home, the early morning gloom bringing little comfort to his wandering thoughts. Heat surged through him when he'd see her, back towards him as she fixed a pot of coffee. He couldn't contain himself from slinking forward to wrap his arms around her smaller frame. He bid her a good morning, receiving a chaste kiss in return. He left her there, deciding it a good time to prepare himself for the day.

As the hours grew older, he looked forward to seeing her face again. She never failed to make his spirits skyrocket, she had him so far down the rabbit hole that he wouldn't have been able to escape if he tried - not that he'd want to anyway.

He arrived home, looking forward to spending another peaceful night in her tender embrace.

His days would pass by in a blur, the only thing that mattered to him was that he woke up to the most beautiful creature to ever exist, as well as being able to fall asleep next to that same creature every night. It seemed almost insane how much he loved her, how much he knew she loved him. People were often fascinated by the pure admiration that they shared for each other. They'd ignore the jealous stares and wishful compliments were met with smiles. It seemed a cycle almost, how much that seemed to happen.

He didn't understand people who were unable to find a love like his. He wondered how they were able to live their lonely lives, as surely he would not have been able to without her. To be so in love with someone that their faults are perfection, their perfection almost ethereal... It seemed almost insane.

What a funny way to fall in love with someone: not with their beauty, but rather the lack of it and their acceptance thereof.

He'd given her his everything.

If he could relive every moment he'd spent happily with her, he'd be living in an eternity of bliss. Her happiness was more important than his. Like all couples, they had their differences, but they were able to work through them, each allowing the other to build them self up to the best they could be.  He would take any chances he got if it meant making her the happiest woman alive.

He sometimes wondered how she'd managed to have him so completely. He'd always tell her how she'd had him wrapped around her finger all along. He hung onto everything she said, listening to her fears and in turn sharing his thoughts. It was their way if staying close, their way of understanding what approaches they would have to take when taking on the world.

He woke up early that morning, gazing across his room at the portrait of her that hung on the far wall. He smiled, she really never failed to make him feel truly at home. If nothing else were true besides her love for him, then let the world be damned because he'd have everything he'd ever need.

His smile faltered when a dull knocking on his door disrupted his thoughts. Sore feet padding across the cold white floors, he reached the door just as it opened from the other side. A woman wearing a tight smile and carrying a tray topped with an assortment of medications ushered him to the bed. He complied, too weak to protest as he sat on the plain covers that matched the soft walls surrounding him. He sighed again as he stared at her picture again, mind still hazy from his recent awakening.

He smiled again, sadly this time. He accepted the glass of water that the nurse held out to him.

He took one last look at the picture on the wall. He choked back a sob.

Sometimes he wished everything was different.

Sometimes he wished everything was real.