He knew he was the luckiest man alive, and he reminded himself of it every morning that he woke up and thought of the most beautiful human in the world that was his. He opened his eyes every first light, pushing away the dark, gusty cloud of work and school, and reeled in his sunshine.

He saw her face, glowing in the light of his mind. He would drive to see her at three in the morning, when her hair was piled on top of her head and her makeup was washed away. Those were his chosen moments with her, when she didn’t care about anything. When she had just woken up from dreaming of happiness, he loved her.

She would smile and show her set dimples that she never liked, and he could see her brown freckles sprinkled across her nose that she always covered. He saw her in those candid moments, and he saw her being.

He didn’t just see the girl, he saw the entity. Her soul was light and full of energy and happiness, and he felt warm watching her spin around in her bedroom.

When she collapsed into his arms, tired and weary, he would kiss both of her eyelids and tell her how beautiful she was.

She didn’t like to hear that, so she’d laugh her ocean laugh and run her hands through his hair. She’d sit up and look right into him, right through him. She smelled of peppermints and ground coffee, and he’d breathe her in every time.

                  “You are so beautiful,” He would whisper to her, catching her eye. They were so ample and enigmatic, endless like the ocean she was named after.

                  “Don’t,” She’d reply, her voice simple and smooth as melting chocolate in his hands. “I won’t let you do that.”

                  He was so confused, so ready to take her with him around the world, to the stars and every little comet floating in space. He wanted to bring her on ships and sail away, fly her into sunsets in airplanes and tumble down hills intertwined with her legs.

He didn’t understand, then, why she had scars running down her arms and legs, and why every moment she was happy, she’d crumple to the floor and sob.

He didn’t understand at that time how badly she wanted to be loved.

She didn’t know that he wanted her inside and out, every last bit of her he wanted.

He wanted to be with her soul, every moment of every day he wanted her.

                  “I love you.”

                  “You loathe me.”

                  “I need you.”

                  “You won’t.”

                  “You are everything to me.”

                  “You cannot count on me anymore.”

She was gone one day, into thin air she left him waiting outside her bedroom window. She was in there, but her being was not. The part he loved about her was missing, and all that was left was her broken, bleeding body. He waited for her all that night, and even after he knew she was gone, he’d drive to her house at three in the morning and sit staring at the window where she used to be. Where she used to be.