all things must pass » the beatles, queen and the backstreet boys

25- Brian Littrell

It wasn't that I hadn't enough pictures of him.

I mean, Lord knows that at every moment I'm willing to snap a photo with my camera (despite his half-hearted protests) and print out the film, but something about this particular scene; this particular position he was in that had me desperate to save him down.

Only a camera couldn't capture the depth of the emotions I felt. I needed another way to depict him as I truly saw him, not with my eyes but with my heart and soul that constantly yearned for him. And I knew no better way than to draw him as he lay so peacefully.

Silently picking up my pencil and sketchbook from my bedside table so as not to wake him up, I snuggled into the comforter at the end of the bed, and slowly began to sketch the beauty I saw in front of me.

As mere lines became limbs, and shadows became live, I found myself getting more and more distracted. My eyes would flit up every once in a while with the intention to draw, but I would always end up letting my gaze linger on his sleeping figure.

Eventually, when I felt satisfied enough with the soft lighting and imprint of my pencil, I dusted the paper off to the side, set it beside me, and allowed myself to watch him.

His lips were pulled back in a small smile, one that so resembled the shy one he always gave me when we were alone, wrapped in our love. It seemed that he'd kicked off the covers during the night, because now they were under his bare torso, which seemed almost sculpted. The week-old scruff, which he always rushed to shave off, was actually a change I thought looked incredible on him.

But I was sort of biased. I thought he always looked incredible.

And as he always did in his sleep, his hands were clasped in front of him on the pillow, and his blonde curls were all over the place in a manner that had me chuckling to myself.

Perhaps I did laugh out loud, because he shifted a little in his sleep, before taking a couple of minutes to open his bright baby blue eyes. Again, that sweet smile that could make sunflowers grow.

"Why you sittin' up there?" his morning rasp came out as he sat upright, rubbing his eyes, and I could feel my emotions bubble at the very sound.

Shrugging, I lifted my sketchbook for him to see, and those pretty blue eyes lit up.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to it, and I nodded, handing over my most treasured possession to him.

Brian's fingers began to gracefully trace the lines I'd so carefully etched, allowing himself to express his wonder in a few shocked mutterings that caused me to blush.

As his smile grew even wider, he pulled at my heartstrings even further.

"Come here," he softly said, and I pushed myself to be right in front of him, where I could literally count every single one of his lashes.

Placing a hand on my hair, he leaned in to leave a sweet, lingering kiss on my forehead, one that had my skin burning. He remained silent for a while, a while which had me looking at him like a lovestruck teenager.

"You're so perfect," I mumbled, before leaning in to kiss his lips that I'd been longing to have on my mine since I'd woken up---lips that spoke of love, sang about love, and gave love like no other.

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