She possesses something mesmerizing. Something that drives me to a frenzy. Something that elevates me to the clouds. Something that sets my soul on fire. Something that amplifies my energy. Something I even ponder whether God himself possesses. Something that remains an enigma. Whenever she's near, my heart begins to ramble. There is an inexplicable enchantment about her.
Her angelic features compel me to bow in reverence. Her eyes, sparkling and deep blue, contain a fierce intensity. They appear as if they were sapphires placed in a delicate setting. Her cheeks, slightly rounded on either side of her eyes, beg to be caressed. Her nose, medium-sized, perfectly complements her face, sloping at a 45-degree angle from the upper lip to the bridge. Her lips, rosy and delicate, appear as if plucked from the petals of the finest roses. Fortunate are the raindrops that touch her forehead, trickling down to her chin in a captivating dance.
She's akin to a droplet on a leaf, finding pleasure in sorrow. She's a blossomed flower that defies withering. She embodies both morning dew and evening sunlight. She's akin to freshly churned butter, emerging from the purest buttermilk—unsullied and charismatic.
She's within arm's reach, yet somehow distant. She resides as a flickering image within my subconscious. She graces every dream, rendering everything else monochrome; she carries every hue within herself. Amidst the tumult of my life, her presence brings serenity.
Whenever she sits across from me, or I'm across from her, I'm unable to tear my gaze from her eyes. Eyes that mirror a tranquil pond. In them, I glimpse not only my reflection but also my future self. Sometimes, it feels as though I'm a fragment of her, and she's my entirety. She embodies all that I've ever dreamt. She encapsulates everything I've aspired to be. A mysterious bond connects us, one that defies comprehension for both her and me. Her mere thought sweeps my heart away, bearing her intoxicating fragrance.
Let it be clear—I haven't fallen in love with her. Love is a feeble term to encapsulate the profound intimacy I yearn for with her. My soul longs for something more—like an embrace so tight that our hearts would intertwine or soar alongside her soul into eternity.
Having said all this, I find a grievous flaw within myself. Who am I to describe her? Have I not constrained her beauty within the bounds of my understanding? Have I not reduced her to a limited set of vocabulary? She is much more than my words can convey. My words fall short of describing her perfection; she transcends every adjective.
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