My Beautiful Lady — the story of a girl whose name I do not know
First, she is beautiful. From her haor to her eyes, to her nose, her smile, her walk and figure. Everything is regal, fit for the highest of human qualities and sentiments. She is more than everything I have ever wanted. Physically. I do not yet know her name, so I do not yet even know her. Yet somehow I feel that I do. Her smile must speak so much about who she is. No one could smile like that without beiong genuinely warm, affectioante, and fun. There is the hint of a young girl delighting in something wonderful. There is an impish perverseness that sees something it desires. There is a magical moment where I can see nothing else but her smile and how she fills the room. AS you see, I am reduced to common descriptions of something uncommon. I do not have the words to describe what I feel when I see her. I only know that I do feel when I see her, and for long stretches of time afterwards, she is all see—more precisely, all I want to see.
If I am lucky enough to know her, I will continue this. For then I will have something to say. Until then, I have said all I can as my feelings can never be complete with these simple signs that denote the letters of the words I'm trying to use to capture that feeling. Feelings are not symbols and cannot be used to comunicate; they are the communication pure and without artifice. Until then, my beautiful lady...