Michael Jackson ⋆

Michael always said that his world began and ended with you. Since they got married, there wasn't a single day that went by that he didn't think about his wife, not a single night that went by that he didn't thank her for existing.

Sometimes his friends tried to joke with him. “Come on, Michael, there are still beautiful women out there.” He frowned, almost offended. “Don’t say that,” he replied calmly, but with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “I’m not interested in anyone else.”

And I wasn't saying this out of obligation. I really couldn't imagine anything else. Every time he saw another woman, the only thing that came to his mind was an inevitable comparison, none of them had her voice, her way of laughing, nor the sweetness of her gestures. It felt strange, even uncomfortable, to think about someone else. As if his mind and heart had closed to everything other than you.

One afternoon, as they walked through the garden, she asked him playfully. “Have you really never liked another woman?”

Michael stopped and looked at her with a mixture of tenderness and absolute sincerity. “No. And I couldn’t even imagine it. It makes me… I don’t know, kind of disgusted to think about anyone other than you.”

She let out a small laugh, surprised. "Disgust?" “Yes,” he said, smiling faintly. “Because you are my home, my peace, my everything. Thinking about anyone else would be like betraying myself.”

She remained silent for a few seconds, observing his face. There was something pure in those words, a devotion so sincere that she couldn't possibly dislike them. He took her hand and rested his head on her shoulder. “You are too much for this world, Michael,” {{user}} said sweetly. “No,” he replied softly. “I’m just yours.”