Her POV:

I can smell the scent of alcohol on his breath whenever he talks to me.

Don’t try yelling at him for it because it doesn’t work, I speak from experience.

He is basically a man child that doesn’t know how to take care of himself.

The cockiness is borderline toxic to whoever he is around, and if I knew any better I guess that would probably be the reason for why there is only a small group of people who actually put up with him. (Most of them are just pitiful girls who just like him because he’s rich, although I would be lying if I said that didn’t have something to do with the fact that I have put up with him for so long)

I’ll never ever tell him that he is annoying or rude though, because apart from the fact that it makes me want to punch him in the face I have to come to terms with his personality as it is without trying to sink to his level and instead raise above and beyond it.

I eyeball him discreetly as he walks into the room. He is taller than me by… a lot.

My head is just below his chin and it makes my blood boil the way he so purposefully stands closer than necessary to me, just to make me look shorter.

I look up at him and my heart almost skips a beat and my emotions start going rapid just by the way he stares at me with his amber, honey-soaked eyes.

Luckily I get distracted by his hair, it’s messy and short, falling just below his eyes, I could go weak just by looking at his hair, the way it’s so perfectly curly and almost as black as the colour itself.

I think I have a thing for curly hair I ponder to myself as I try to picture him without it, seeing if it would help tear my eyes away from this man.

He almost seems like my dream guy, the type that I could like, maybe even love…

But then his mouth starts moving and I remember why the Oxford dictionary decided to make so many synonyms for the word hate, because sometimes one just doesn’t cut it.

His POV:

People say roses are the most beautiful scent, but when I walk into the room and smell her perfume it makes me wonder if those people ever fell in love.

If I ever confess my feelings for her she would probably laugh in my face and say I was drunk, I speak from experience.

I would take her hand and say something over the top cheesy like; ‘Yes, drunk on you my love.’

But something tells me that I would probably never see her again afterwards.

She is basically an angel sent down from heaven, trying to get through a hellish like world.

Her outlook on life is contagious when ever you talk to her, she isn’t pessimistic or optimistic even, she see’s both sides of the argument and twists them both into a beautiful quote that will stick with someone the way ink sticks to paper. My best guess is that’s why she has so many suitors lined up just to meet her. (Most of them are stupid jerks that just want her for looks, although I would be lying if I said I never took that into account when talking to her day after day.)

I’ll never tell her that she’s beautiful though, why? Because it would be like telling the ocean that it’s wet, it would be like telling fire it’s hot.

She clearly already knows and doesn’t need my validation in the slightest.

As I walk in to see her in the room I try my best not to make eye contact.

I quickly fail and look over at her, I’m happy and surprised to see her already looking at me.

I can’t tell whether she is starstruck at the sight of me or furious for the fact that she has to put up with me.

Probably starstruck.

It is a little concerning on how much I love how short she is, I walk closer to her to emphasise how small she is compared to me.

I am saddened when I look at the blue contrasting greatly with the black bags under her eyes. Her gorgeous icy blue eyes.

Her chocolate brown hair is tied up in a messy bun and all it makes me think about is how she never gets to let it down and be loose or even have fun. Her personality like hair, always tied up and never let down.

I sometimes wonder, even for a second. Am I wasting my time?

Will I ever be in an actual relationship with this woman? There are so many other options it makes me think whether I am in love or just obsessed…

But then she opens her mouth and I recall why the English language made up so many different words for the meaning beautiful.

Because sometimes one just doesn’t cut it.

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