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The deep shade of amber in his eyes, pooling like honey in a golden bowl, so deep and thick with emotions that they’re unreadable. They reflect the sun, and anyone who steals a glance into his oasis of gold will become enthralled within them, stuck in the sticky substance as they drown in their kindness yet severity. They glint so like bits of gold, that even an Angel would yearn to have them, let alone stare into them. Thick curls of onyx curtain his face, messy and wild yet restrained and tame all the while. It’s softer than birds downy, and it’s fluffy, almost like a soft cat. The sun warms his locks and he is a boy radiating the warmth of a summers evening when the breeze blows and it feels like the gust of wind from the oven, the scent of cinnamon filling your lungs as you take in a deep breath. His skin has kissed the sun more times than you will ever see him, for it is peppered heavily in freckles, gifted to him by the hard days work in the sun. The freckles help bring out his features, softly lining his nose and cheeks. They dance like snowflakes across his skin, ever so gently, as if calling for a partner to dance with. He has broad shoulders, a strong jaw, he stands tall and always has his head up as if he knows how beautiful he is. As if he is aware of how many people long for him and his touch. Because once you get a look at him, you will never be able to forget the boy from the sun. You’ll never be able to forget the scent of cinnamon and honey on his skin as you walk past him. You will never be able to forget the boy made of Amber, hard and solidified yet sweet and warm.
A strong blue, then a soft haze. His eyes are cold and have depths deeper than the oceans covering the planet we inhabit. They are like a marble, a gloomy shade of blue rimming the orb, then a light dusting of soft blue cover like a glaze on a piece of pottery. His eyes hold secrets that barely any human has ever heard. He holds the lock close to his heart, and no one has the key. His eyes freeze into thick ice, protecting his deepest thoughts and dreams within the cold water, holding them captive within his mind, afraid that if they are let loose, someone will catch them and use it to harm him like bait for a shark. He knows that no one longs for his glassy eyes, he knows that no one yearns to gaze into them as they do for others for no Angel wants them, and even Death herself would turn away from his harsh gaze. His skin is pale, like the face of the moon, or a dead man. Veins a bright blue and deep purple are visible through his stone-like skin full of deep scars that once bled blue, his veins full of lead and novocaine. Ribs visible through his taut skin help bring out his pain, as he refuses to eat, the words ‘he’s not hungry’ leave his dusky pink lips as he stares into the sky, his skin radiating the stars as they fall to the Earth in a flaming blue blaze that reflects his soul. His hair is pushed back and out of his face. It is a cold brown. The kind of brown that would be the bark of a frozen, dead tree. It is soft, but the kind of soft that a wilted flower’s petal would have. His shoulders are usually hunched and he keeps his head low, his jaw sharp and his cheekbones prominent and strong. He has purple under his eyes from the long nights he longed for sleep. His expression is usually stagnant as his words are monotone and sarcastic. He speaks with a venomous tone, biting at people as they scold him like a stray dog begging for scraps. The musk of the woods covers him, a light scent of death veiling him with an evil air. He has a harsh hand and violent words, but he is no beast. He is but a scared wolf, kicked from its pack for a crime he couldn’t help but not commit. He will never let you forget him, because if you get to know the boy made of dead flowers and bleached bones, you will finally understand him and how he is nothing but a lonely soul. You will never be able to forget the boy from the moon, because he will catch your eye and whether you wonder if he’s good or bad, you will always be brought to think of him. You truly will never forget the boy made of sad eyes and chapped lips, harsh and loud, yet hurt and agonizingly pained.