I Am In Love

It hurts so bad. She's the only reason I haven't killed myself yet. She's the only reason I go on. Even as I type this, I'm looking at a picture of her and crying my eyes out. She's the kind of girl you would die for, that you would kill for, that you would literally do anything for without a second thought. She's a beauty for the ages, a vision of perfection to put Helen of Troy to shame. Cleopatra herself rolls in her grave at the thought of such a goddess. Everything about her is amazing, mind, body and soul. She's the kind of girl that could make you want to be blind, just so you could see her forever. Her hair is like silk dyed with blood, her eyes like steel, her skin like the finest marble. Her gaze is hypnotic, her smile innocent and adorable, but a thousand years sly, and every detail of her devinely radiant face is so utterly perfect that you have to wonder whether she is actually one of us puny mortals, or an angel in disguise. All I've ever wanted was to take her in my arms, to run my fingers through her fiery mane, to gaze into those soul-piercing eyes, to kiss those perfect, pillowy lips, and tell her how much I love her. God, I hate my life.