If I am going to speak of her, let it be said that I do not do so lightly.
I fear that approaching her to rashly, even in a story, will force her to take flight.
To remain a in the wind, as she has so often been to me.

We met at first in a flurry of youth and promise.
And with a naiveté that only children who see themselves as grown, but haven't felt pain enough to be so have.
She was a rare and singular creature, quite apart from anything I had known in my short life. Put simply, she was beautiful. With a fair complexion that did all it needed to set of eyes almost the color of emeralds or the first fresh grass of spring. Her face was a gentle oval with a chin that just barely escaped being to narrow. Her nose was ever so slightly crooked, although in the name of honesty I didn't notice that for a long time. What struck me though, was her lips. Or maybe it was the easy smile that played at the corners of her mouth. It was perfect. And not just for kissing, even though at my tender age it took me all but three short seconds to go from wondering who she was to thinking secret thoughts about bringing those lips to mine. But as I said that was not the most powerful thing about it. It seemed to me that everything that those lips did was made in perfection. From them sprung a voice that flashed through me like burning silver and cool ice and sweet summer rain. Her smile was an ease to every hurt and her laugh was tantalizing to such a degree that it threatened my sanity and still does to this day.
All this and I still feel far from doing her justice in describing what she was to my eyes. It might sound like hyperbole to you. Romanticized exaggerations striving to match an old and glorified memory. And maybe it is in some small part, but forgive me and allow me the weakness of loving that memory. After all, years later and after knowing her I still lay the same words at her feet with conviction in my voice and honesty at heart. Because I know it to be true and no measure of reality will make me see it as different, whether it be yours, hers or anyone else's.
It might seem to you that I am putting an inordinate amount of effort into describing this single, albeit important piece of my tale. In time you will know why, you will understand the lengths a passion such as i felt for her can drive a man to go to. She is in many ways the the foundation upon which a large part of who I am today stand. And for that I beg of you to forgive her, she only meant well and should not be held responsible for the acts and convictions of young love.