fail.

I met a girl once. She was beautiful. Her hair laid long, like her face. Her lips always looked so perfectly pursed. Her ears were tiny and full of pretty things. She had lovely, smooth skin. Her eyes were soft, a place I could find myself staring into for hours. Her hands were short and stubby and fit perfectly wherever she placed them. She had an attitude, most girls do. But even the attitude was exquisite. I could take it, I really could. Her smile, it was warming, even the fake one. Her embrace was always just what I wanted, and it too was perfect. Her ideas were always different, I could never fully agree with them, and I feel that is what angered her. But I didn't half-agree all the time. I could sit and listen to her points and philosophical views all day. Her language was sometimes nasty, like her thoughts [constantly were]. She had an indecisive mind and confusing signals that no one but her could even think about reading. . . I fell in love with her.