Annie Grey

         She was perfect. Annie Grey was the most flawless creature on God’s green earth. I could get lost in her eyes if she would only let me, the deepest shade of brown spellbinding me, and capable of captivating the world if they could only see her. Nobody in the world could touch her; her soft smile shining more brightly than any heavenly body. Heavenly body. Dear God, how perfectly the phrase fit her. Her voice brought me to my knees; I clung on every word that was uttered from the lips of this gorgeous enchantress because she meant the world to me. Her laugh was my addiction; I turned to her in the worst of times and she was there for me without even knowing it. Her happiness was my everything, my total bliss; her sadness my hell. She exemplified everything that meant beauty; amplified everything that was romantic imagination; heightened every sense into euphoria until I could not stand it. She showed me that love was no fiction, for when I was with her, cupid’s arrow could not fly more straight nor more true; when I caught the first glimpse of her, the arrow hit its target, and every fiber of my being bled longing. She was the cause of something far beyond infatuation. Annie Grey was the subject of my limerence. Annie Grey. Her lithe figure dances through my head. The mere mention of her name inspired thoughts of tranquility and paradise in my mind. If she only knew how I felt, maybe, just maybe, these feelings would be reciprocated. When God’s most divine masterpiece was in my presence, I felt blessed to be alive. Even now, as I author the praise of a goddess, I realize that my effort is in vain, for all words fail to describe absolute perfection, no matter how much effort even the most talented hand puts into portraying it. No amount of imagery and articulation succeed in capturing her perfection, but trying to write it squelches the fire that is the restlessness created by her not being mine; all too shortly fills the void in my soul reserved for Annie Grey.