This man can’t be real. He just can’t.
His eyes, they’re so impossibly blue. It’s like when He was painting the world, God took the same brush with which He colored the mid-summer, cloudless sky and in the same stroke created this man’s eyes. They are like dew-kissed wild violets, magical and heart-breakingly ethereal.
His face. Oh! His face! It’s like a thousand angels carved his impossibly high cheekbones out of milky alabaster using only their heavenly songs and tender caresses. His noble brow, his slender neck, they inspire the odes of the muses. The curve of his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose causes the nymphs and faeries to weep in bitter jealousy.
His hair. How I long to weave my fingers through his luxurious locks. They are as spun gold, magnificent silken sunshine. His velvety tresses bring demi-gods to their knees, rendered unable to stand in their envy.
This man should be only a dream, a product of the imagination. But alas, my heart! It is not so! And all woman are left yearning for his touch, desperate to glimpse his perfect countenance and forsaking all else for the melodious lilt of his laughter.
He is a most beautiful, elegant, bewitching human being…
and I utterly despise him for it.
Oh gosh this^^^^
the adventures of low face-man
