Mesmerising, brow and if he could understand them. His

Mesmerising, he thought to himself.  He loved her. 
So, so much.  The Amazonian figure
that sat on her wafer-thin body.  The way
she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking.  The way her nose crinkled when she laughed.  But most of all, he thought, the part that he
adored the most was her sweet, delicate, heart – shaped face.  The face that lit up whenever she played with
her puppy, frowned whenever she saw a math question that she did not
understand, he knew all its lines and creases. 
Every dip and every angle, it was forged deeply in his mind.

Sometimes, he would stay up till the crack of dawn, staring at
her porcelain – white skin as she lay peacefully on her pillow.  He would trace the contours with the tips of
his fingers, captivated by her immense beauty. 
Slowly, making his way down her face he would first touch the brow.  Oh that brow, how strong it was.  He always thought that a strong brow
signified a strong mind.  Hypnotized, he
would sometimes wonder what thoughts passed by that brow and if he could
understand them.  His eyebrow, unlike
hers, were not as big, and so he guessed so weren’t his thoughts.  But he had deep thoughts too, he was sure of
it! 

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That look of innocence on his lover’s face when he surprised
her once was enough proof.  Her eyes, so
big and pure, had sockets that were deep but level that gave them a penetrating
gaze.  Behind those eyelids were the most
intense grey eyes he had ever seen.  It
was the grey of the last ashes in a fire, tossed up in the breeze.  And yet there was nothing remarkable about
them.  The wrinkles that lay on the sides
of those eyes were almost unnoticeable. 
They were not brought by laughter, he knew for certain, it was born of
stress.  These were eyes of
experience.  They had seen quite a lot –
not all that pleasant.  However, despite
all the hardships that those eyes had witnessed he still saw the warmth and
purity that were contained in them. 

Her nose was a marbled sculpture, carved only by the
greatest Greek sculptors themselves.  It
accentuated her prominent cheekbones, dividing the face with geometric
precision into two perfect halves.  There
are two equal sides to everything, he thought to himself as he hummed her
favorite tune while softly stroking her hair. 

Her lips might be the best feature on her whole face.  Those thin strips of heaven, the perfect
symmetry along the Cupid’s bow.  God
seemed to have been drunk when he made you, there cannot be any other reason as
to why such perfect things existed.  Not
the brows, not the eyes, not the nose, it was the lips that captured perfectly
his lover’s emotions.  Relaxed it was a
sign of contentment.  Turned down they
were a map to anger.  He much preferred
it wide stretched and turned up, in absolute happiness and laughter.  That one ray of sunlight that danced on the
wetness as she made a lap around her lips as it had gone dry – one sweet smooth
motion, made him go crazy.  Sometimes,
when she parts her lips slightly, it makes him stop speaking, waiting in
anticipation to see her lips move. He watches, as time stops, when the petals
slowly part, almost reluctantly sticking together, making it unnecessary for
words.  Those words when spoken however,
often amazed him.  They spoke to him with
importance that he sometimes did not understand.  Normally they would speak tenderly towards
him, only once had they spit at him harshly, only once had they called him
crazy. 

But it was only once! And it helped him realize that one
cruel insult had made him treasure his lover’s kinder words more sweetly.  He would spend the whole night thinking of
his lover’s face, the face that awoke a sense of devotion and true love in
him. 

Until his alarm rang, reminding him that he had to go to
work.

Begrudgingly, he would put his lover’s head back into the
top shelf of the refrigerator, just behind the week old lasagna.  He had to keep it safe and secure when he was
gone.

This time however, he was feeling hungry.  Wanting a snack, he strolled to the cutlery
drawer and pulled out a brand new silver fork. 
Only the best for my lover, he would say to himself endearingly as the
fork shone in the light.  He slowly
observed the plate and then used the fork to impale the squirming maggots that
have taken solitude on his lover’s dead face. 
He chucked the maggots into his mouth and felt it burst as he bit into
its moving body, gulping it down.  The
tangy flavour slowly made its way down his throat as he took a sip of water to
wash the taste away. 

Then he placed his lover’s severed head back into its sanctuary. 

He walked to his garage, hearing the clanking of the gate
opening, as he made his way to his lover’s headless dead body.  It lay sprawled across a work bench, on a
once pristine white but now red and brown table cloth.   Dried pools of blood lay in splatters all
over the floor and the walls.  Its been a
few days but he could still taste the sweet, metallic taste in the air.  The blood that once flowed thick and scarlet
in her veins was clasped in his calloused fingers.  He still hasn’t washed that old grey sweater
that had a dried patch of brown stained on it.  He looked down admiringly and sighed.  The mangled neck and obviously broken bones
were caked in dried blood, congealed and cracked.  The now browning blood and drizzled down the
table like so much rain down a window pane. 
He reached over and grabbed a blood caked bow saw and went to work
dismembering her remains one piece at a time.

Carefully, he would think to himself.  I don’t want to hurt her.

He would keep her private parts in a separate bag, to keep
safe so he can play with them later. 
After his work was done he would place the discarded remains into
different trash bags and drag them to the backyard.  Outside the moon covered the land with a
pearlescent glow.  It hung like a great
luminous pearl on the radiant breast of heaven. She guided him through the
night, her calming presence making him close his eyes as he let out a sigh of
tranquility.  He always thought to
himself that each night sky is a fresh gift given anew. 

And then he got to work.

He dug a hole so big and so deep and piled the trash bags
inside.  “Only the best for my lover,” he
would continuously tell himself as the cold night ignited a fire inside his
heart.  The darkness wrapped itself
around him in its dark blanket, the inky night sky filled with specks of
light.  The only sound that was heard was
the shoveling of the dirt.

When he was done, he would slowly stroll back into the
garage, stretching.  He had been cleaning
for two days, why did the blood seem to still latch itself onto every single
corner of the room?  He didn’t mind, not
at all.  It smelled like his lover, but
he had to clean it or else someone would call the police again.  It wasn’t easy hiding the body last time, no
it was not.  His nosy neighbours had alerted
the authorities and he almost got caught. 
Thank God he had been hiding the body in the freezer, or else he would
have been screwed.  This time, he
promised that he would keep his tracks clean.

Hours later he was done. 
Under the perfect midnight velvet, under the stars so brilliant they
drew the eyes heaven abound, he felt his soul become a bird in the night
sky.  With every moment came peace, and
with every breath, exuberance. He went back inside the house and took a hot,
relaxing shower.  The scorching heat
melted right to his bones.  Just like the
water spiraling down the drain, he felt the nervousness and distress dwindle
away as ease and comfort made sanctuary in his body.  The rest of his day would be a boring,
uneventful one.  Until the evening, when
he could return home to his beloved.  To
embrace his lover, to slowly trace the elaborate arches on her face yet again.  He would lay her on the pillow beside him as
he sang her a lullaby, contemplating his lover’s face just as he did the nights
before.