She asked me to give her a compliment.
Pink like the soles of a possum's paw, her cheeks carried the blush of the cold winter air. Green highlight in her locks, the colour of moss. The tips of her nails coloured medical blue and egg-yellow arm warmers donned on. A faded purple sweater that seemed to have come out of an old trunk from yesterday; jeans that looked like the hide of a dairy cow. With Lips the colour of a psychopath's blade hiding baby white teeth.
I’ve never liked Love as it’s portrayed by Romantics.
Happiness is a child with scratched knees and a goofy smile. Holding a candy cane in sticky hands.