I told her I loved her. I didn’t need to tell her really, but it’s the 21st Century and everything nowadays has to be said to be proven. So I expressed my feelings to her because she was always the sweet and selfless person who never thought twice about jumping in the water to save another, but would think twice about smiling when receiving a compliment, because that was just the type of girl she was. The type of girl who would carve smiles onto the faces of all those she met, but yet failed to smile when faced in the mirror. She was still the same old-fashioned hopeless romantic. She still cried on sad endings, and chuckled with glee on happy endings. And in these moments I’d see something in her eyes, which no other had the fortune of seeing, that she was different she wasn’t the type of girl to validate her worth by a compliment, which is why she never smiled when given one. As compliments to her were nothing they were like raindrops melting in the warmth of the summer sun. Things which would soon disappear and bear no importance. I remember asking her why she didn’t value herself enough, think of herself as a beautiful painting with a story to tell with each stroke of the brush. I remember she replied “I am a painting, I’m just not there yet, I’d rather see myself as an empty canvas. Something which has the power to be incredible, but chooses not to be”. I then went on to ask why she thought she did not possess the power to be incredible, and she then so naively replied ” Girls like me, we don’t live to be incredible”…And that was when I realised that she would be my canvas, and I would paint her stroke by stroke, and when people would come from afar to see my masterpiece,they would look for a signature, as every masterpiece has one, and mine would be Her.