Marcus O! Marcus :) Hehe

Now, as I write, the many facets of Marcus’ character shape the flow of my hesitant thoughts. He who was my well wisher, friend, my infidel husband and then my most faithful soul mate. Was it a natural progression on the part of Marcus? Or was it that I had let him astray, that as a wife I did not provide him with the comforts of the home and hearth, and that had transformed Marcus from the incarnation of love that he was, to a betrayer. Indeed, I must hasten to admit that Marcus, save for his one philandering escapade was faithful. And if ever a marriage was so blest with tender and honest concern for the other, it was ours. That is the reason I bid him adieu with his newfound lover, many years ago, after I found them gazing into each others eyes and clasping hands. If Marcus found love better and more fulfilling than what my timid self could offer, I was only happy for him to savour it, I’m sure Marcus would have done the same for me. I let him go and he came back to me. It was then that I rained blows against his broad chest and his tears drenched my hair.

These memories come to me in disparate blotches, I must collect my thoughts and tell you about the wonder that Marcus was. I must pull myself together, else I fear I shall be doing great injustice to his sacred memories.

One aspect of Marcus on which my memory does not fail is the person of him. He was a tall man, muscular shoulders and arms that rippled underneath the fabric of his shirt as he moved them about. I fear I might not be quite capable of portraying his leonine nature, the quiet assurance about him, or the fluidity of his movements. He moved with the elegance of a cheetah on the prowl. A face chiselled by God’s own hands and of His finest marble. He was a vision that lifted the gloomiest of spirits, his flower-like irises specked with green flecks were absinthe. Of perfect symmetry and proportion, his forehead was of a King, broad and unlined, rising in the gentlest of curves just above the eyebrows, and the brows themselves lush but not crowded, well defined with not one stray hair marring their perfect lines, they were like the neatly trimmed hedges of palace gardens and I would tell him the same, he would arch one perfect brow at that and laugh at the childishness of such a simile.