Theodora, you are my poetry: every time I see your majestic hair — it reminds me of the hottest of fires; the sound of your voice is like a...
*Richard tries to find a comparison and then realized that he mostly thinks of her being happy, laughing at Monmonster, or snorting from laughter at Williams jokes, or her literal death screams whenever somebody tickles her. No... He'll carefully consider other, we, options for now.*
... the sparks in your eyes are like stars in the night sky; your delicate hands are made to be kissed and worshipped.
You are poetry.
Theo sits on the edge of her bed. It's usually where her and Richard talk. Laugh. Where they can share...whatever they can share.
There's so much comfort she gets from their conversations, yet tonight somehow that simple comfort isn't enough. She can't seem to look at him for a minute because it hurts too much to imagine what it would be like if the space beside hers wasn't empty.
"Richard--"
She stops him. Her voice is soft, but firm. Stopping him from saying more beautiful things to her that she can't handle. It is..unusual for her.
She smiles, but there is something hard at the edges. She will never not smile at him...but tonight it is a smile that comes with the realization that there are beautiful promises between them she can never fulfill for him.
She looks back to him, fingers tracing circles on the sheets where his hand should be. Her eyes meet his, appreciating everything that exists, whilst attempting to balance what could have been.
"...If just the simple act of living is poetry to you, your life must have been a masterpiece. One I would have loved to have added color to."
