he loves how

she ate her sandwiches with forks

and how she laughed to break silence.

he loves how

her eyelashes curled effortlessly

and how her hair took a day to air-dry.

he loves how

she tucked her bed sheets in the ends of her bed frame

and how she slept with three pillows.

he loves how

she collected stamps and postcards.

he loves how

her eyes shimmered after they kissed

and how warm her skin felt to his.

he loves

the feeling of her breath when she whispered in his ear.

he loves

her fascination with birds and how she had endless variety of books on information about them.

he loves how

she always had the scent of flowers and honey

and how she looks stunning regardless how her hair is.

he loves how

she was secretive

and she thought he didn't know.

he loves how

she was so honest and raw

he loves

the small details about her

he loves

everything that made her, herself.

and he wanted to tell her these things

but he couldn't.

it was too much of a risk.

and risks are meant to be dangerous.

so he held it within his heart and let it soak so deep into his blood

that it became his waking thought

and the reasons his bones filled with ache and warmth.

he became so infatuated with all of her ways

that he began to go crazy.

so crazy

that he hurt her.

and broke her heart.

ripped it to shreds,

and the chain remained

as he watched her smiles and habits fade to sleeping and tears.

he had killed her.

not physically

but emotionally.

and he didn't know which was worse.

so he held himself accountable

for her happiness

and her life.

and he kept 4 words in his mind.

the small things matter.

the small things matter.

the small things matter.

the small things matter.