His breathing was 1 & 2.
Masculinity flowed out of his rugged hand as it lay, perfectly placed on my open one and wrist. I felt his warm breath hit my arm consistently, it was heavy yet airy and his eyes flickered as if he were dreaming.
Unfazed by the constant buzzing of his phone – most certainly the cousin again – his whole temple was dead still, for he was in a slight slumber. My eyes fell to the soothing rhythm of his respiring chest. I, along with my daughter, was a disfigured one numeral and he was a deformed two.
Desperate to show him admiration, I gently stroked my two last toes against the base of his foot. I didn’t want to wake that kind face of his.
I noted every little detail of his figure. He is the Love of my life, the Father to my child and the Reason of all the blessings ever to be handed to me.
These words do not do Marco any justice as my love for him and his perfect being can never be expressed on paper.
A man such as Marco who is too great can only be experienced, not described by tongue or hand.
I pray that you love me forever, honestly and wholly as I do with you and much more.
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