HerIf beauty had a face, it was hers.She had that something. She was something. Something shone out of her, covering her being in cascades of light as gentle as her smile. Something that subtly reached out and took hold of you, pulling your eyes over to her. You wouldn't see her face from how she carried herself in that shy, dreamy way. But she wasn't an illusion conjured from the depths of my imagination, urged by years of loneliness to arise when the moon bathed my face as I slept. She was real. I could reach out and touch her if I wanted but I chose otherwise - it seemed as if the slightest recognition could startle her or indeed shatter her very existence. I felt as if I had to handle her with the utmost care. She was a china doll; snowy white with delicate rosebud lips and sparkling blue eyes that carefully watched, sheathed under rows of thick black lashes.Her love was bittersweet. It grew unconditionally while I could only smile worriedly. My love was too much for her tiny frame;
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