Candle lit motel was the place where people went when they had given up. Alexander Harris had just lost the love of his life. The same love of his life he left at the alter. The same love of his life that died not knowing he was still in love with her. So, yeah, he was way past giving up. He drove his rusty old car down to this hotel with nothing but money, a gun and some alcohol.

Sunnydale was destroyed and everyone was in mouring. There was alot of death that day. And Xander would never forget it. Never forget her.

Her and her crazy flaws.

Her flaws.

He spent some much time focusing on her flaws that he never got the chance to mention her little perfections.

He wished he did.

To him, she had so many perfections. The one he noticed most was the little twinkle in her beautiful eyes. She used to get that twinkle when she was talking about money or...or their wedding. He felt himself begin to choke up and swallowed a lump that had began to form in his throat.

The thing he noticed the most was that twinkle. But it wasn't the thing he loved the most. What did he love the most? There was so many things. Her smile, her voice, her hair.

There was above ordinary attitude. Yes, he loved that she was above ordinary and he could only realise that now.

He spent most of his time thinking she was below ordinary when, really, she was above it. And he loved it. He loved her. She was supposed to be his everything. She was supposed to be his always.

And she died before he could tell her.

She died before he could tell her that he'd give anything to hear her talk about money, or see her squirm just at the mention of bunnies or listen to her make inappropriate remarks.

The brunette held the alcohol bottle to his lips and eagerly gulped it back. He eyed the gun and quickly threw it against the wall. He would happily kill himself for her but what if they didn't end up in the same place?

Quietly, he hobbled over to the small desk that sat near the window in the cramped room.

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and a broken pencil.

Dear Anya,

He began, with an unsteady hand.

It's kinda funny how I started to write this as if you are ever going to read this. But I'm hoping that, somehow, you do. Like, you are some kind of ghost peering over my shoulder.

He takes a self conscious glace behind his shoulder and begins to write, again.

It's probably the most unsuitable time, ever but I realise I never wrote my vows. Never read them for you to hear. Never told you what I love about you. Why I love you. Do you know why I didn't write my vows? It was because I spent along time trying to find the right words to describe how much I love you. The perfect words. And then I realised, there isn't any. There is no words. None to express how much I care, how you make my world spin, how you make my heart beat so fast I think it's going to break out of my chest. All I can say is I love you and I always will. Always.

He layed the pencil down and leaned back in the wobbly chair, silently hoping that somehow Anya could read this letter.

And learn all about why he thought she was perfect.

And from that day on he started counting her perfections.

And he never stopped.

Counting, loving and silently dying inside.