His feelings were like a pearl inside an oyster shell; safer locked away. He was never the type of man who found his way through words, he was rather safer being quiet.

His grandchildren asked him about their grandmother, they have never met her nor knew what she was like. In the warm living room where his elderly scent inhabited, on a drizzly night when couples would cuddle, they asked him what she was like. Where does he begin and how would he ever find the words to describe her? He loves her dearly, so dear that the ocean of words can never do her justice.

Where does he begin? Under the wrinkled features of her face, he still felt the spark that revived his heartbeats. She was peaceful and serene, never the moth to his flame. She would embrace him whenever he was angry or frustrated and suddenly, all the storms would calm down in admiration to her. Where does he begin? With splendid beauty that embraced the moon in her eyes as she was more of a night person.

Where does he begin? Perhaps from the spark that started their flame; “She loved the moon, and I loved the moon that reflected in her eyes.”


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