When she spoke, he heard little tintinnabulations of wind chimes that sounded in his ears resonantly. She had a voice of sweet, mellifluous whispers that was thick and viscous as honey,  his cheeks flushed red in the wake of her kiss, this somehow tantalized him, for she was of a pulchritudinous kind of beauty, and it renders him speechless.   He lived in a perpetual yearning, for he wanted her all to himself, with an immense passion that somewhat overwhelmed him.  It often envenoms him all inside, leaving him lachrymose, for he thought of her as a matter of everyday.

  As to, whether she loved him, she showed almost no sign of reciprocal affection, and if she did, it was vague, little nuances of a slight infatuation, perhaps not even visible to the naked eye. 

And so he lived, under her obtrusive obliviousness, seeking for, a slight hint of reciprocal passion.  

Oh such is, the life of loving another.