It was her eyes that had caught his attention first.
They were cerulean, dark on the edges, light in the center, misty altogether. You could become lost in them, floating about with no notion of direction, and no desire to care. It was a wonderful feeling, and it became a guilty pleasure of his to stare her directly in the eyes as she spoke, no matter how fast his heart would beat, or how high his stomach would jump, or how sweaty his palms became.
And then it was her voice, crisp and clear. True. He had not heard truth in so long, it was almost alien to listen to once again. When she spoke, he believed. Like the damned following the prophet, he listened to every word. He would watch them tumble from her mouth, more precious than any diamond or pearl, tempting his imagination, thinking of ways to catch them.
And then it was her face, oval and light, alive and open. He knew how he cheeks would puff when she was frustrated, and how her lip would worry against her teeth when she was upset; how her dimples would dress her smile, and how her nose crinkled as she snickered. He committed these things to memory, locking them away amongst the things in his brain that he would never share.
And then it was her. In all her perfect imperfections, in all her lovely flaws, it was her. How she snorted when she laughed, how her eyes gleamed when she was excited, how she breathed, how she moved, how she lived. She was the only solid thing in his world, all of her atoms vibrating, wild and alive, around that that which was her soul. He could only watch, breathless and amazed, desperately clutching his jumping heart so that it did not leap into her open arms.
And it was when he realized this that he finally collapsed.