His...

Late at night in the shadows of his bedroom, she sleeps as he holds her in his arms. Huddled together against the cold of the world outside, he wonders how she came to be in his arms so peacefully asleep. He has never seen her sleep so deeply. Her sleeping breathes so sweet, her body so amazing, and her presence so comforting. She is far from perfect, he knows this. After so much time, how could he have found her?

Somewhere in the darkness she stirs and begins to speak. Startled, he slowly studies her sleeping form for signs of wakefulness, but she sleeps on. She softly mumbles his name, and then says words that steal his breath.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she says and begins to weep. Shaking, she tells him she is broken and damaged. “Why would you want me? I am not your perfect love. I am scarred and wounded.”

As quickly as she began to speak, she falls silent again. With a smile on his face, he finds sleep at last. In the morning light he asks to have all of her for the first time. Kissing her passionately, he reaches down her body to free her shirt. Her hands halt his movements.

“I am not beautiful. I am scarred and marked by life,” she warns him much to her shame.

“You are beautiful and perfect to my eyes,” he says comfortingly as he bares her to his eyes. In wonder, he takes her and she is his.