INFATUATION

I WATCH HER from a distance. She sits there silent and delicate. I cannot help but stare at her. She glances from time to time, flashes a smile and continues on with her business. I sit there without regard for my surroundings. She barely even notices me.

I lay at home dumbfounded. As raindrops pour down, I cannot help but remember her. Her smile pierces through my heart as if a hot knife slicing through butter. Her eyes simply put me in a cosmic trance. It sends me wallowing and yearning for more. She is like a sweet dream, surreal and pure. A dream I wish not to wake upon.

What attracts me most is her simplicity and practicality. In a school where both are in short supply, she shines like a diamond amongst faded rocks. There is nothing superficial about her. She is every bit of real. Irresistible.

Whenever I'm around her it's as if I can feel her soul. I've never felt such a sensation. I have not seen anyone as passionate about life as she is. Happiness is so instinctive to her. There is not a single trace of the world's filth in her soul. Her ways beguile me. It surprises me, catches me, and rapes me.

The sun scorches my eyes, as I head to school. I remember our pleasant conversations. Her words about love signal my heart's final arrest. She shows twinkles of profanity in all the unexpected places. I simply let my guard down but she never takes advantage. No spots of casual flirting or teasing, no lust or cruel intentions. She simply speaks the truth.

Like the truth she is blinding. She intoxicates my senses. I do not know what to do anymore. The sheer act of knowing her has enlightened some of the dark corners of my mind. It opened doors I dare not open. Inspiration is too meek a word to describe her effect on me. It is something beyond inspiration.

Realizations knock on my head as I lull myself to slumber. I know words are far too few to explain what love is. This fact defeats the purpose of writing about her and trying to express what I feel. This is a futile attempt. A shot at the impossible. But the heart beats to its own rhythm. I cannot control it. What I write is barely a hash of what I really feel.

She has shown me something I have not had in years. Beyond the rust of my depressions, she propelled the winds of my hope. Hope that there is something to this thing called life after all.

She is an implication that there is truly a God out there.