You're beautiful like a painting meant to be stared at until everything else fades into quiet. You carry a beauty that feels stolen, as if light forgets roses and chooses you instead. As if the sun, for one selfish moment, wanted to pause its journey to admire you. You're beautiful in the way forbidden things are stunning, the kind that pulls you in even when you know you shouldn’t touch. The kind that whispers, “don’t,” while your heart says, “but I must.” You're more than beautiful. And if you ever doubt it, I’d take your hand, place it on my chest, and ask: Then why does my heart race every time you enter the room? That’s the thing about love. It is an art. And you, darling, are its most breathtaking masterpiece.