Most people think love follows some triumphant story line: First encounterance that leads to fortunate ending, where everything unfolds according to plan. But from what I presumed, love is just two imperfect people—finding their fate with little things reminding them how beautiful it is to be together. 

Strange, how beautiful these things are; how these things are still beautiful—strange, that our sweet flesh falters, knows ghastly change—and our voyage are still beautiful under the scattered trees. Take me, my dear, to whom your language is given, to your presence I am driven. 

The ordinary things that we often do: the conversation after midnight, the walk in the park, the little joke tossed between each other—that is life in its spectrum of peace and contentment. It's new, it's endearing. I always get reminded of you everytime I listens to Little Things, because I know we completed each other in the simplicity that remains beyond breathtaking. It's warmth, it's pleasing, it's worth to fight for. 

You are worth to fight for. I am in love with you, darling, and all of these little things that made you who you are. How perfect, truly, you are to me. I hope one day you could see yourself from my perspective, then you will realize, that your little things completed the beauty in your soul.