She wore my favorite, her strawberry and cream sundress. Beauty could not have struck her more favorably. Her frame was thin and narrowing, reminding me of the saplings we would tend to in the yard. The true difference between the two? She had already blossomed at a young age. She was a summer day on a winter night, a fall day on a rainy evening. Her magic was intoxicating and, in a way, as sweet at the dress she wore. Tension builds in my body thinking of the way she moves. Her eyes were like puppets justiculated properly, a masterpiece. I recall no fonder soul than her. Nothing damages the image of the perfect love, but she never made it into existence. She just wades through my mind like a lilly pad in a frosted lake. She was artfully created and always what I had in mind.