I marvel at the colour of her.

I marvel at her green eyes; perfect orbs of emerald, fading into aquamarine with flecks of tiffany blue. As deep as an ocean, and just as mysterious. I could swim in her eyes for hours, lost in their beauty.

I marvel at the pinkness in her cheeks, as delicate and soft as a rose petal. I wonder how warm the blush feels to her. I wonder if she knows how adorable it makes her.

I marvel at the creamy whiteness of her skin, which would richen to a golden brown in the Summer. Radiant and relucent; not cold like snow.

I marvel at her wavy blonde locks, cascading like spun gold down to her waist. Strands of butterscotch and caramel intertwine on a bed of glimmering honey , as bright as a flame in the dark. The breeze lifts her hair softly, pulling at it playfully.

I marvel at her lips. Usually a soft and pale pink; today they were painted a startling and passionate crimson red. They were as bright as a perfectly ripe cherry, and as mesmerising the flicker of fire. Smooth and soft looking, and oh so tempting.

I marvel at the deep blue of her dress, the material clinging to her body, accentuating her figure. The dress stops just above her knees, baring her long legs and I marvel at how the dark navy contrasts beautifully with her pale skin.

I marvel at the sunset behind her, and how nature has created the perfect balance of scarlet and gold to accomplish the sensation of utter peace and romance that only a star setting on the horizon can produce.

I marvel at the colour of her soul. The rainbow of warmth that washes over me when I’m in her presence.

I marvel at the colour of her.

I marvel at her.

 

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