Her eyes.

I'd plant a tender kiss on your cupid's bow, if you allow me.
I'd tell the world of the oceans you hide behind your eyes, dark blue.
I'd draw your face in the sky, adorn your lush long hair with stars.

And so on she read. Though she pretended to be displeased when he handed the letter, neatly folded blue paper in a white envelope, her heart pounded crazily against her chest. She frowned and asked him to leave. Her friends thought he was too boyish, writing her loveletters every week, he'd write everyday, she knows but they only meet on Saturdays. A brief hello at the park by the fairy fountain.

"Your eyes" he'd say. "They tell me otherwise." He smirked. She was angry, not at him but her eyes, for deceiving her, for giving her away. She was trying hard to convince him she doesn't like him writing her mushy lovey letters, she thought it was silly, Highschool-ish. And their relationship wasn't so. It wasn't about two teenagers having butter knees and butterflies in their tummies. He and her, different as day and night. But it's hard to tell who is day and who is night, who loves black and who loves white, who is dark and who is light. She loved the night and despised the color black, he was like the sun and the moon and loved the former more. She made peace with her inner self and the outsiders and he fought with both.

He in his entire lifetime, 27 years, haven't ever read a line from a Shakespearean play or heard of Pablo Neruda's love sonnets. And she knows many by heart. When she'd quote Rumi or Hafez he'd roll his eyes and talk of racing tracks, adrenaline, bikes, getting high on life. That exactly was why she was surprised when he gave her his first loveletter the first Saturday, five days after they met.

The letter was terrible, she didn't want to tell him that. "How was it?" He asked. "Good" she bit her lip, she didn't want to lie. "But I'd rather you not give it to the girl you like" she didn't want to offend him. And he laughed. Before leaving he gave her another letter. Which he had written right before her.

"Thanks for the advice. But it's too late. The girl I like and her eyes have already seen the letter, read it and decided it was crap. But I promise, if she is too look at me like that with those magnetic eyes of hers, I can improve. I could write a letter, I could fill a whole library with letters and still not get tired. If her eyes wouldn't tie my tongue in an invisible knot I wouldn't have to toil like this, but I wouldn't complain about the knot in my tongue, the lump in my throat, the congestion in my chest and other feelings I can't name in my intestines, as long as she keeps an eye, no both her beautiful eyes on me."