Light olive skin tone to ogle over for hours, Black messy hair fallin' all over the place, but looking so purposefully disarrayed to give girls mixed feelings in the guts; sharp nose but not too business-like-sharp; in other words,
perfect. Soft pink lips turned up with interest and I bet they could be crisp talking; the eyes the hottest to handle, so finesse with intimidation that they might make Mary Virgin swoon over ; But his stance and second to none body held all the glory, full of himself
But lemme tell you, calling this man perfect would be a fluke, ppl.
The patched up heart still surprisingly there in his chest, ripped apart by a thousand wounds but still somehow intact with my single hearted love brings his perfection notches down. And you blatantly call him grave or what stingy?
*Ever had to look at the ceiling for a hook to hang the rope to choke yourself but then instead gulping down pain and forcing yourself to believe that destiny might have something in store for you? Then you'll know what pain is*
Good Looks don't lend a helping hand then, they leave the chat....