His eyes shone like emeralds in the bright sunlight, which was odd because normally they were dark brown with flecks of warm honey. I suppose I never looked too much into his eyes to find the gems before, always distracted by his deep black lashes that were almost unnaturally long, and if I didn't know better I’d say they were coated in mascara. Although no more than twenty, laugh lines creased around his always changing orbs when he laughed, obviously practiced in letting that melodic sound dance around his lips, a smirk constantly gracing the light pink pillows that looked soft as clouds. A splatter of nearly transparent freckles dusted his strong, square face, mostly concentrated on the bridge of his narrow nose that looked as if it had been previously broken, although that slight imperfection somehow made his whole look so much more appealing. Light brown shaggy hair that brushed his ears constantly fell in his face, in spite of how many times he lifted his toned arm to brush it back in place. They were in a stalemate; no matter how much gel or which hairspray he used, his hair would move right back, and if his hair were a person I’m sure it would sigh at the fact that he has yet to give up on the war. All of these qualities and yet the one thing that topped all of this was his kindness. It never mattered to him what someone wore or how much they had, he was friends with everyone. Whilst walking down the street if there was someone in need, he was the first to offer whatever he had, whether it be a meal, cash, or the shoes on his feet. He is kind to strangers, to his family, and anyone he comes across. And yet, when I go to tell him, all that draws me in again are those eyes that shine with happiness and beauty, and I forget everything on the tip of my tongue.