ALMOST

"The stars."

"Hm?" I murmur in question, looking over at him, observing his high cheekbones and rosy lips. He brushed part of his feathery fringe away from his eyes.

"They're breathtaking," he states, looking up in awe at the clear sky. I looked back up, and only then did it occur to me how bright stars shone. I turn my head back to his.

"How do you do that?" I question. His ocean-blue eyes find mine. I stare at them, for once, not seeing a barrier without emotion, but a vast, saddened aura begging for comfort. I speak again, quietly, still searching his eyes.

"How can you always be so astounded by everything?"

He swallows at my remark before looking back up to the scatters of reflected light sprinkled in the dark void above us.

"I don't know," he answers, softly. "I guess I've always done that. I've always found beauty in everything."

He pauses.

"Except myself."